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IS 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


643-048  PARK  AVE. 


THE   LANIER  BOOK 


SIDNEY    LAN1ER,     IN    CONFEDERATE    UNIFORM, 
AT    THE    AGE    OF    24 

From  a  f>Imtograph  taken  at  the  close  r>f  the  Ch'il  ll'ar,  now  owned  by  Mr.  Milto'i 
Noi-tlt,uf>,  <if  Syiaiuse,  N.  Y. 


THE   LANIER   BOOK 

SELECTIONS   IN   PROSE   AND  VERSE 
FROM   THE  WRITINGS   OF 

SIDNEY   LANIER 


EDITED  BY 

MARY    E.    BURT 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1904 


COPYRIGHT.  1904,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


so 

MY   BOYS   OF   1902 


PREFACE 

SIDNEY    LANIER    is    best    known    by    his 

"Marshes  of  Glynn,"  'The  Symphony," 
£  "Corn,"  "Clover,"  "The  Song  of  the  Chatta- 
**  hoochee,"  and  "Ballad  of  the  Leaves,"  poems 
5j  appealing  to  the  mature  mind.  Anyone  not 
**  intimately  acquainted  with  his  works  might 

ask:  "What  is  there  in  the  writings  of  Lanier 
*i  for  younger  minds?  Surely  he  speaks  to  the 
£}  philosopher,  the  scientist,  the  statesman,  but 
§  not  to  the  student  in  common  schools."  Lanier 

has  two  audiences.  He  has  his  following  of 
^  university  professors  and  profound  scholars, 

and  he  has  his  young  people's  brigade,  as  well. 
%  No  one  who  has  heard  boys  of  nine  and  ten 
^  years  recite  with  glowing  interest  "The  Tour- 
2  nament,"  "Tampa  Robins,"  "Barnacles,"  and 
<  "The  Song  of  the  Chattahoochee,"  as  I  have 

repeatedly,  can  doubt  that  even  a  child's  life 


449701 


viii  Preface 

will  be  broadened  and  his  mind  made  keener 
through  contact  with  the  lines  of  this  dear 
poet. 

Sidney  Lanier  had  four  boys  of  his  own.  He 
was  in  touch  with  children  and  childhood.  He 
loved  the  intimate  companionship  of  his  boys. 
He  loved  to  play  with  them,  to  read  to  them, 
to  reason  with  them,  to  write  to  them  and  for 
them  and  about  them.  Some  of  the  most 
precious  hours  of  his  life  were  devoted  to  edit 
ing  children's  books,  and  his  own  children  gave 
him  the  clew  to  what  was  best  in  these  vol 
umes,  "The  Boy's  King  Arthur,"  "The  Boy's 
Froissart,"  "Knightly  Legends  of  Wales,"  and 
"The  Boy's  Percy."  It  was  out  of  the  young 
father's  heart  and  for  the  love  of  his  own  chil 
dren  that  these  things  were  done.  Right  well 
did  he  know  the  joyous  pride  of  the  young 
father  in  his  first-born  when  he  wrote  "Baby 
Charlie."  Well  did  he  know  the  strenuous  and 
chivalric  heart  of  the  boy  when  he  edited  the 
various  volumes  of  knightly  tales. 

Lanier's  devotion  to  his  brother  Clifford  was 
passionate  affection  to  the  last,  and  in  their 
poem  (written  conjointly),  "The  First  Steam 
boat  up  the  Alabama,"  there  is  a  delicious  ap- 


Preface  ix 

preciation  of  child-life  in  the  character  of  little 
Dinah,  which  only  child-loving  poets  realize: 

"Shuh  dat  gal  jes'  like  dis  little  hick'ry  tree, 
De  sap's  jes'  risin'  in  her;  she  do  grow  ow  laciouslee."  * 

This  poem  always  calls  forth  a  storm  of  ap 
plause  when  read  or  recited  before  children  or 
older  students,  as  does  also  "The  Hard  Times 
in  Elfland,"  a  princely  gift  from  the  poet  to 
his  children  when  Santa  Claus  was  too  poor  and 
sick  to  fill  their  stockings  with  toys.  Oh,  what 
a  Christmas  gift  was  that! 

"The  Story  of  a  Proverb,"  written  for  young 
folks,  and  first  printed  in  St.  Nicholas  maga 
zine,  is  much  liked  by  children,  and  "The  Story 
of  King  Arthur,"  also  from  St.  Nicholas,  is  a 
running  review  of  King  Arthur's  life  con 
densed,  and  valuable  in  school  work  to  the 
teacher  who  is  too  pressed  for  time  to  place  the 
large  volume  in  her  pupil's  hands.  Any  pupil 
of  twelve  years  who  can  read  with  an  average 
degree  of  accuracy  will  like  the  story. 

The  Lanier  Book  need  not  be  considered  a 
volume  for  one  grade.  I  remember  a  "Lanier 
Day"  in  my  own  school-room  a  few  years  ago 

*  See  "  Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier,"  p.  179. 


x  Preface 

when  a  youth  of  fourteen  paid  a  brilliant 
tribute  to  the  poet,  and  pupils  from  eight  to 
fifteen  applauded  heartily;  and  yet  another 
"Lanier  Day"  when  boys  of  eight  or  nine  or 
ten  recited  with  zest  "Tampa  Robins,"  "The 
"Tournament,"  "Life  and  Song,"  "Barnacles," 
and  other  poems,  to  a  most  appreciative  audi 
ence  of  parents.  There  is  no  "grade  line"  and 
no  "age  line"  in  the  writings  of  great  men. 
The  work  of  Lanier,  like  that  of  Hawthorne, 
Longfellow,  Lowell,  and  Cable,  is  crowned 
"permanent"  by  the  best  critics,  and  there  is 
no  longer  any  possibility  of  excluding  him  from 
educational  lines  or  of  reserving  him  for  future 
schools  to  discover. 

The  thanks  of  the  editor  are  due  to  Mrs. 
Mary  Day  Lanier,  who  has  revised  the  work, 
and  to  William  Malone  Baskervill,  from 
whose  "Biographical  and  Critical  Studies  of 
Southern  Writers"  I  have  often  quoted. 

MARY  E.  BURT. 

The  John  A.  Browning  School. 
April,  1904. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.   THE  STORY  OF  A  PROVERB i 

II.    KING  ARTHUR  AND  His  KNIGHTS  OF  THE 

ROUND  TABLE 21 

III.  THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  LEONOR     ....  37 

IV.  POEMS 

Tampa  Robins       .     .     .- 47 

Street  Cries 48 

Barnacles 48 

The  Tournament 50 

A  Song  of  the  Future 54 

Life  and  Song 55 

The  First  Steamboat  up  the  Alabama   .  56 

Song  of  the  Chattahoochee      .     .     .     .  61 

V.    SAN  ANTONIO  DE  BEXAR 

Early  History  of  San  Antonio      ...  67 

The  Tragedy  of  the  Alamo     .     .     .     .  85 

VI.    FROM  MORN  TILL  NIGHT  ON  A  FLORIDA 

RIVER 99 

VII.    BOB:    THE  STORY  OF  OUR  MOCKING-BIRD  107 

VIII.    INCIDENTS  IN  SIDNEY  LANIER'S  LIFE       .  125 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

SIDNEY  LANIER   IN   CONFEDERATE  UNIFORM,  AT 
THE  AGE  OF  TWENTY-FOUR  ....  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

THE  ROYAL  PROCESSION 6 

SOMETHING  HAPPENS  TO  His  MAJESTY     ....  8 

THE  VIZIER  IMPARTS  THE  KING'S  DECREE   ...  9 

THE  GRAND  VIZIER'S  VISITOR u 

THE  KING  ADVANCES  HIS  RIGHT  FOOT    ....  14 

His  MAJESTY  WALKED  FORTH  UPON  THE  STONES  15 
HE   GAVE   A    GREAT    LEAP    INTO   THE  AIR  AND 

WHIRLED  HIMSELF  WITH  JOY 17 

THE  KING  DISMISSES  HIS  CABINET  IN  DISGRACE  .  19 

FACING 
PAGE 

SIR  ECTOR  AND  SIR  TURQUINE       30 

SIR  BEAUMAINS  AND  THE  BLACK  KNIGHT    ...     34 

THE  STORMING  OF  THE  ALAMO 94 

BOB  LYING  IN  A  LUMP no 

COTTAGE  IN  WHICH  MR.  LANIER  PASSED  HIS  LAST 
DAYS  HO 


I 

THE  STORY  OF  A  PROVERB 


THE    STORY    OF   A    PROVERB 

ONCE  upon  a  time — if  my  memory  serves 
me  correctly,  it  was  in  the  year  6% — His 
Intensely  -  Serene  -  and  -  Altogether  -  Perfectly  - 
Astounding  Highness  the  King  of  Nimporte 
was  reclining  in  his  royal  palace.  The  casual 
observer  (though  it  must  be  said  that  casual 
observers  were  as  rigidly  excluded  from  the 
palace  of  Nimporte  as  if  they  had  been  tramps) 
might  easily  have  noticed  that  his  majesty  was 
displeased. 

The  fact  is,  if  his  majesty  had  been  a  little 
boy,  he  would  have  been  whipped  and  sent  to 
bed  for  the  sulks;  but  even  during  this  early 
period  of  which  I  am  writing,  the  strangeness 
of  things  had  reached  such  a  pitch  that  in  the 
very  moment  at  which  this  story  opens  the  King 
of  Nimporte  arose  from  his  couch,  seized  by  the 
shoulders  his  grand  vizier  (who  was  not  at  all 
in  the  sulks,  but  was  endeavoring,  as  best  he 
could,  to  smile  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to 
the  soles  of  his  feet),  and  kicked  him  down 
stairs. 

3 


4  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

As  the  grand  vizier  reached  the  lowest  step 
in  the  course  of  his  tumble,  a  courier  covered 
with  dust  was  in  the  act  of  putting  his  foot  upon 
the  same.  But  the  force  of  the  grand  vizier's 
fall  was  such  as  to  knock  both  the  courier's  legs 
from  under  him;  and  as,  in  the  meantime,  the 
grand  vizier  had  wildly  clasped  his  arms  around 
the  courier's  body,  to  arrest  his  own  descent,  the 
result  was  such  a  miscellaneous  rolling  of  the 
two  men,  that  for  a  moment  no  one  was  able  to 
distinguish  which  legs  belonged  to  the  grand 
vizier  and  which  to  the  courier. 

"Has  she  arrived?"  asked  the  grand  vizier, 
as  soon  as  his  breath  came. 

"Yes,"  said  the  courier,  already  hastening  up 
the  stairs. 

At  this  magic  word,  the  grand  vizier  again 
threw  his  arms  around  the  courier,  kissed  him, 
released  him,  whirled  himself  about  like  a  tee 
totum,  leaped  into  the  air  and  cracked  his  heels 
thrice  before  again  touching  the  earth,  and  said: 

"Allah  be  praised!  Perhaps  now  we  shall 
have  some  peace  in  the  palace." 

In  truth,  the  King  of  Nimporte  had  been 
waiting  two  hours  for  his  bride,  whom  he  had 
never  seen ;  for,  according  to  custom,  one  of  his 
great  lords  had  been  sent  to  the  court  of  the 
bride's  father,  where  he  had  married  her  by 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  5 

proxy  for  his  royal  master,  and  whence  he  was 
now  conducting  her  to  the  palace.  For  two 
hours  the  King  of  Nimporte  had  been  waiting 
for  a  courier  to  arrive  and  announce  to  him  that 
the  cavalcade  was  on  its  last  day's  march  over 
the  plain,  and  was  fast  approaching  the  city. 

As  soon  as  the  courier  had  delivered  his  mes 
sage,  the  king  kicked  him  down-stairs  (for  not 
arriving  sooner,  his  majesty  incidentally  re 
marked),  and  ordered  the  grand  vizier  to  cause 
that  a  strip  of  velvet  carpet  should  be  laid  from 
the  front  door  of  the  grand  palace,  extending 
a  half-mile  down  the  street  in  the  direction  of 
the  road  by  which  the  cavalcade  was  approach 
ing;  adding  that  it  was  his  royal  intention  to 
walk  this  distance,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  his 
bride  a  more  honorable  reception  than  any  bride 
of  any  king  of  Nimporte  had  ever  before  re 
ceived. 

The  grand  vizier  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out 
his  instructions,  and  in  a  short  time  the  king 
appeared  stepping  along  the  carpet  in  the  state 
liest  manner,  followed  by  a  vast  and  glittering 
retinue  of  courtiers,  and  encompassed  by  multi 
tudes  of  citizens  who  had  crowded  to  see  the 
pageant. 

As  the  king,  bareheaded  and  barefooted  (for 
at  this  time  everybody  went  barefoot  in  Nim- 


6  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

porte),  approached  the  end  of  the  carpet,  he 
caught  sight  of  his  bride,  who  was  but  a  few 
yards  distant  on  her  milk-white  palfrey. 

Her  appearance  was  so  ravishingly  beautiful, 
that  the  king  seemed  at  first  dazed,  like  a  man 
who  has  looked  at  the  sun ;  but,  quickly  recover- 


THE   ROYAL   PROCESSION. 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  7 

ing  his  wits,  he  threw  himself  forward,  in  the 
ardor  of  his  admiration,  with  the  intention  of 
running  to  his  bride  and  dropping  on  one  knee 
at  her  stirrup,  while  he  would  gaze  into  her  face 
with  adoring  humility.  And  as  the  king  rushed 
forward  with  this  impulse,  the  populace  cheered 
with  the  wildest  enthusiasm  at  finding  him 
thus  capable  of  the  feelings  of  an  ordinary 
man. 

But  in  an  instant  a  scene  of  the  wildest  com 
motion  ensued.  At  the  very  first  step  which  the 
king  took  beyond  the  end  of  the  carpet,  his  face 
grew  suddenly  white,  and,  with  a  loud  cry  of 
pain,  he  fell  fainting  to  the  earth.  He  was  im 
mediately  surrounded  by  the  anxious  courtiers; 
and  the  court  physician,  after  feeling  his  pulse 
for  several  minutes,  and  inquiring  very  carefully 
of  the  grand  vizier  whether  his  majesty  had  on 
that  day  eaten  any  green  fruit,  was  in  the  act 
of  announcing  that  it  was  a  violent  attack  of  a 
very  Greek  disease  indeed,  when  the  bride  (who 
had  dismounted  and  run  to  her  royal  lord  with 
wifely  devotion)  called  the  attention  of  the  ex 
cited  courtiers  to  his  majesty's  left  great  toe.  It 
was  immediately  discovered  that,  in  his  first  pre 
cipitate  step  from  off  the  carpet  to  the  bare 
ground,  his  majesty  had  set  his  foot  upon  a  very 
rugged  pebble,  the  effect  of  which  upon  tender 


8  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

feet   accustomed    to   nothing   but    velvet,    had 
caused  him  to  swoon  with  pain. 

As  soon  as  the  King  of  Nimporte  opened  his 


SOMETHING    HAPPENS    TO    HIS    MAJESTY. 

eyes  in  his  own  palace,  where  he  had  been 
quickly  conveyed  and  ministered  to  by  the  bride, 
he  called  his  trembling  grand  vizier  and  in 
quired  to  whom  belonged  the  houses  at  that  por 
tion  of  the  street  where  his  unfortunate  accident 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  9 

had  occurred.  Upon  learning  the  names  of  these 
unhappy  property-owners,  he  instantly  ordered 
that  they  and  their  entire  kindred  should  be 
beheaded,  and  the  adjacent  houses  burned  for 
the  length  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

The  king  further  instructed  the  grand  vizier 


THE   VIZIER    IMPARTS    THE    KING'S    DECREE. 

that  he  should  instantly  convene  the  cabinet  of 
councillors  and  devise  with  them  some  means  of 
covering  the  whole  earth  with  leather,  in  order 
that  all  possibility  of  such  accidents  to  the  kings 
of  Nimporte  might  be  completely  prevented — 
adding,  that  if  the  cabinet  should  fail,  not  only 
in  devising  the  plan,  but  in  actually  carrying  it 
out  within  the  next  three  days,  then  the  whole 
body  of  councillors  should  be  executed  on  the 
very  spot  where  the  king's  foot  was  bruised. 


IO  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

Then  the  king  kissed  his  bride,  and  was  very 
happy. 

But  the  grand  vizier,  having  communicated 
these  instructions  to  his  colleagues  of  the  cabi 
net — namely,  the  postmaster-general,  the  prae 
tor,  the  sachem,  and  the  three  Scribes-and-Phari- 
sees — proceeded  to  his  own  home,  and  consulted 
his  wife,  whose  advice  he  was  accustomed  to 
follow  with  the  utmost  faithfulness.  After 
thinking  steadily  for  two  days  and  nights,  on 
the  morning  of  the  third  day  the  grand  vizier's 
wife  advised  him  to  pluck  out  his  beard,  to  tear 
up  his  garments,  and  to  make  his  will;  declaring 
that  she  could  not,  upon  the  most  mature  delib 
eration,  conceive  of  any  course  more  appropri 
ate  to  the  circumstances. 

The  grand  vizier  was  in  the  act  of  separating 
his  last  pair  of  bag-trousers  into  very  minute 
strips  indeed,  when  a  knocking  at  the  door  ar 
rested  his  hand,  and  in  a  moment  afterward  the 
footman  ushered  in  a  young  man  of  very  sickly 
complexion,  attired  in  the  seediest  possible  man 
ner.  The  grand  vizier  immediately  recognized 
him  as  a  person  well  known  about  Nimporte  for 
a  sort  of  loafer,  given  to  mooning  about  the 
clover-fields,  and  to  meditating  upon  things  in 
general,  but  not  commonly  regarded  as  ever 
likely  to  set  a  river  on  fire. 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  1 1 

UO  grand  vizier!"  said  this  young  person,  "I 
have  come  to  say  that  if  you  will  procure  the 
attendance  of  the  king  and  court  to-morrow 
morning  at  eleven  o'clock  in  front  of  the  palace, 


THE    GRAND    VIZIER'S    VISITOR. 

I  will  cover  the  whole  earth  with  leather  for  his 
majesty  in  five  minutes." 

Then  the  grand  vizier  arose  in  the  quietest 
possible  manner,  and  kicked  the  young  person 
down  the  back-stairs;  and  when  he  had  reached 
the  bottom  stair,  the  grand  vizier  tenderly  lifted 


12  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

him  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  back  to  the 
upper  landing,  and  then  kicked  him  down  the 
front-stairs — in  fact,  quite  out  of  the  front 
gate. 

Having  accomplished  these  matters  satisfac 
torily,  the  grand  vizier  returned  with  a  much 
lighter  heart,  and  completed  a  draft  of  his  last 
will  and  testament  for  his  lawyer,  who  was  to 
call  at  eleven. 

Punctually  at  the  appointed  time — being  ex 
actly  three  days  from  the  hour  when  the  grand 
vizier  received  his  instructions — the  King  of 
Nimporte  and  all  his  court,  together  with  a 
great  mass  of  citizens,  assembled  at  the  scene 
of  the  accident  to  witness  the  decapitation  of  the 
entire  cabinet.  The  headsman  had  previously 
arranged  his  apparatus;  and  presently  the  six 
unfortunate  wise  men  were  seen  standing  with 
hands  tied  behind,  and  with  heads  bent  forward 
meekly  over  the  six  blocks  in  a  row. 

The  executioner  advanced  and  lifted  a  long 
and  glittering  sword.  He  was  in  the  act  of 
bringing  it  down  with  terrific  force  upon  the 
neck  of  the  grand  vizier,  when  a  stir  was  ob 
served  in  the  crowd,  which  quickly  increased  to 
a  commotion  so  great  that  the  king  raised  his 
hand  and  bade  the  executioner  wait  until  he 
could  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  13 

In  a  moment  more,  the  young  person  ap 
peared  in  the  open  space  which  had  been  reserved 
for  the  court,  and  with  a  mingled  air  of  proud 
self-confidence  and  of  shrinking  reserve,  made 
his  obeisance  before  the  king. 

UO  king  of  the  whole  earth!"  he  said,  "if 
within  the  next  five  minutes  I  shall  have  covered 
the  whole  earth  with  leather  for  your  majesty, 
will  your  gracious  highness  remit  the  sentence 
which  has  been  pronounced  upon  the  wise  men 
of  the  cabinet?" 

It  was  impossible  for  the  king  to  refuse. 

"Will  your  majesty  then  be  kind  enough  to 
advance  your  right  foot?" 

The  young  person  kneeled,  and  drawing  a 
bundle  from  his  bosom,  for  a  moment  manipu 
lated  the  king's  right  foot  in  a  manner  which 
the  courtiers  could  not  very  well  understand. 

"Will  your  majesty  now  advance  your  majes 
ty's  left  foot?"  said  the  young  person  again;  and 
again  he  manipulated. 

"Will  your  majesty  now  walk  forth  upon 
the  stones?"  said  the  young  person;  and  his 
majesty  walked  forth  upon  the  stones. 

"Will  your  majesty  now  answer:  If  your 
majesty  should  walk  over  the  entire  globe,  would 
not  your  majesty's  feet  find  leather  between  them 
and  the  earth  the  whole  way?" 


14  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

"It  is  true,"  said  his  majesty. 

"Will  your  majesty  further  answer:  Is  not  the 
whole  earth,  so  far  as  your  majesty  is  concerned, 
now  covered  with  leather?" 

"It  is  true,"  said  his  majesty. 


THE    KING   ADVANCES    HIS   RIGHT   FOOT. 

"O  king  of  the  whole  earth,  what  is  it?"  cried 
the  whole  court  in  one  breath. 

"In  fact,  my  lords  and  gentlemen,"  said  the 
king,  "I  have  on,  what  has  never  been  known  in 
the  whole  great  kingdom  of  Nimporte  until  this 
moment,  a  pair  of — of " 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  15 

And  here  the  king  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
young  person. 

"Let  us  call  them — shoes,"  said  the  young 
person. 

Then  the  king,  walking  to  and  fro  over  the 


HIS    MAJESTY    WALKED    FORTH    UPON   THE    STONES. 

pebbles  with  the  greatest  comfort  and  security, 
looked  inquiringly  at  him.  "Who  are  you?" 
asked  his  majesty. 

"I  belong,"  said  the  young  person,  "to  the 
tribe  of  the  poets — who  make  the  earth  tolerable 
for  the  feet  of  man." 


1 6  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

Then  the  king  turned  to  his  cabinet,  and 
pacing  along  in  front  of  the  six  blocks,  pointed 
to  his  feet,  and  inquired: 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  invention?" 

"I  do  not  like  it;  I  cannot  understand  it;  I 
think  the  part  of  wisdom  is  always  to  reject  the 
unintelligible;  I  therefore  advise  your  majesty 
to  refuse  it,"  said  the  grand  vizier,  who  was 
really  so  piqued  that  he  would  much  rather  have 
been  beheaded  than  live  to  see  the  triumph  of 
the  young  person  whom  he  had  kicked  down 
both  pairs  of  stairs. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  however,  that  when  the 
grand  vizier  found  himself  in  his  own  apart 
ments,  alive  and  safe,  he  gave  a  great  leap  into 
the  air  and  whirled  himself  with  joy,  as  on  a 
former  occasion. 

The  postmaster-general  also  signified  his  dis 
approval.  "I  do  not  like  it,"  said  he;  "they 
are  not  rights  and  lefts;  I  therefore  advise  your 
majesty  to  refuse  the  invention." 

The  praetor  was  like  minded.  "It  will  not 
do,"  he  said;  "it  is  clearly  obnoxious  to  the 
overwhelming  objection  that  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  objectionable  about  it;  in  my  judgment, 
this  should  be  sufficient  to  authorize  your  majes 
ty's  prompt  refusal  of  the  expedient  and  the 
decapitation  of  the  inventor." 


HE   GAVE   A    GREAT    LEAP    INTO   THE    AIR   AND 
WHIRLED    HIMSELF    WITH   JOY. 


«7 


1 8  The  Story  of  a  Proverb 

"Moreover,"  added  the  sachem,  "if  your 
majesty  once  wears  them,  then  every  man,  wom 
an  and  child,  will  desire  to  have  his,  her,  and  its 
whole  earth  covered  with  leather;  which  will 
create  such  a  demand  for  hides,  that  there  will 
shortly  be  not  a  bullock  or  a  cow  in  your  majes 
ty's  dominions;  if  your  majesty  will  but  con 
template  the  state  of  this  kingdom  without  beef 
and  butter — there  seems  no  more  room  for  argu 
ment!" 

"But  these  objections,"  cried  the  three 
Scribes-and-Pharisees,  "although  powerful 
enough  in  themselves,  O  king  of  the  whole 
earth,  have  not  yet  touched  the  most  heinous 
fault  of  this  inventor,  and  that  is,  that  there  is 
no  reserved  force  about  this  invention ;  the  young 
person  has  actually  done  the  very  best  he  could 
in  the  most  candid  manner;  this  is  clearly  in 
violation  of  the  rules  of  art — witness  the  artistic 
restraint  of  our  own  behavior  in  this  matter !" 

Then  the  King  of  Nimporte  said:  "O  wise 
men  of  my  former  cabinet,  your  wisdom  seems 
folly ;  I  will  rather  betake  me  to  the  counsels  of 
the  poet,  and  he  shall  be  my  sole  adviser  for  the 
future;  as  for  you,  live — but  live  in  shame  for 
the  littleness  of  your  souls !"  And  he  dismissed 
them  from  his  presence  in  disgrace. 

Jt  was  then  that  the  King  of  Nimporte  ut- 


The  Story  of  a  Proverb  19 

tered  that  proverb  which  has  since  become  so 
famous  among  the  Persians;  for,  turning  away 


THE    KING   DISMISSES    HIS    CABINET    IN    DISGRACE. 

to  his  palace,  with  his  bride  on  one  arm  and  the 
young  person  on  the  other,  he  said : 

"To  him  who  wears  a  shoe,  it  is  as  if  the 
whole  earth  was  covered  with  leather." 


II 

KING   ARTHUR   AND   HIS    KNIGHTS 
OF   THE   ROUND   TABLE 


KING   ARTHUR   AND    HIS   KNIGHTS 
OF  THE    ROUND   TABLE 

IT  is  now  about  seven  hundred  and  thirty 
years  ago  that  a  remarkable  book  suddenly  ap 
peared  in  England,  which,  under  the  rather  com 
monplace  name  of  "History  of  the  Britons," 
professed  to  give  an  account  of  a  number  of 
ancient  British  kings  living  both  before  and  after 
Christ,  who  had  never  been  heard  of  in  history 
before. 

One  of  these  kings  was  Arthur,  whose  ad 
ventures,  under  the  advice  of  his  prophet,  Mer 
lin,  and  with  the  help  of  his  special  company 
of  knights,  were  set  forth  with  much  fulness. 
Its  author,  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth — who,  I 
think,  would  feel  obliged  if  you  would  not  pro 
nounce  his  name  Gee-of-frey,  as  does  a  young 
lady  of  my  acquaintance,  but  plain  Jeffrey — 
claimed  to  have  translated  a  Welsh  book,  which 
a  friend  had  brought  him,  and  which  contained 
the  histories  of  these  kings.  Whether  Geoffrey's 
story  of  the  Welsh  book  was  true  or  not — a 
point  on  which  the  world  divided  in  his  own 

23 


24      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

day,  and  has  never  yet  come  together — really 
makes  little  difference.  Here,  at  any  rate,  the 
story  of  King  Arthur  got  fairly  into  literature 
for  the  first  time.  Writers  from  every  side  took 
up  the  Arthurian  story,  retold  it  in  prose  and 
verse,  changed  it,  added  to  it,  and  in  various 
ways  worked  upon  it,  until  finally  five  great 
romances,  besides  a  host  of  smaller  ones,  grew 
up,  which  far  outran  Geoffrey's  original,  and 
which  continued  the  delight  of  Europe  for  three 
hundred  years.  Not  that  they  ceased  then ;  but 
they  began  a  fresh  career,  with  the  invention  of 
printing. 

About  the  time  when  King  Richard  III.  cast 
the  little  princes,  his  nephews,  into  the  Tower, 
and  while  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  were  still 
smouldering,  it  happened  one  day  that  some  Eng 
lish  gentlemen  asked  sturdy  old  William  Cax- 
ton — who  had  recently  set  up  the  first  printing- 
press  in  England,  at  Westminster  Abbey — why, 
among  the  books  he  was  sending  forth,  he  had 
not  printed  the  famous  history  of  King  Arthur? 
At  other  times  the  question  was  repeated;  and 
upon  looking  about  for  a  suitable  work  on  this 
subject  to  print,  it  was  found  that  some  years 
before — about  1469  or  1470 — an  English 
knight  named  Sir  Thomas  Malory  had  collected 
the  five  great  "Romances"  just  now  mentioned, 


Of  the  Round  Table  25 

cut  out  part,  added  much,  rearranged  the  whole, 
and  made  it  into  one  continuous  story,  or  novel, 
all  centring  about  the  court  of  King  Arthur, 
and  ending  with  the  mournful  wars  between  him 
and  Sir  Launcelot  on  the  one  side,  and  Sir  Mor- 
dred  on  the  other,  in  which  the  great  king  is 
finally  killed,  and  the  Round  Table  is  broken 
up  forever. 

This  book  Caxton  printed,  finishing  it,  as  he 
tells  us,  on  the  last  day  of  July,  1485;  and  it 
is  this  book  which  now,  nearly  four  hundred 
years  afterward,  has  been  reprinted  in  an  edi 
tion  for  boys,  from  which  the  engravings  accom 
panying  this  sketch  are  taken. 

It  is,  therefore,  with  the  pleasant  sense  of 
introducing  an  old  English  classic  to  young  Eng 
lish  readers  that  I  comply  with  the  request  for 
some  account  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory's  book, 
which  may  bring  it  before  younger  minds  than 
those  for  whom  the  introduction  to  the  work  it 
self  was  written. 

Before  giving  some  sample  stories  out  of  Sir 
Thomas,  it  is  well  to  have  a  clear  understanding 
of  the  idea  upon  which  it  is  plain  that  all  his  tales 
are  strung,  like  necklace  beads  on  a  golden  wire. 
This  idea  is  chivalry. 

The  first  principle,  we  may  say,  of  the  old- 
time  chivalry  was  the  tender  protection  of  weak- 


26      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

ness ;  and  such  we  may  fairly  call  the  main  motive 
which  holds  together  all  the  people  about  King 
Arthur:  the  protection  of  the  weak.  That  is 
the  ideal  business  of  the  knight-errant.  When 
the  young  cavalier  rides  forth  on  a  bright  morn 
ing,  all  armed,  and  singing,  his  jousts  and  fights 
with  those  whom  he  meets,  even  if  their  direct 
object  is  not  the  succor  of  some  distress,  are 
considered  by  him  as  mere  training  and  exercise 
for  helpful  deeds;  and  if  he  tries,  in  the  old 
phrase,  "to  win  worship"  ("worship"  being  a 
short  way  of  saying  worthship,  that  is,  the  es 
teem  of  worthiness) ,  his  worship  is  always  at  the 
service  of  helplessness. 

You  can  now,  perhaps,  more  clearly  under 
stand  what  is  really  beneath  all  this  stir  of  battle 
and  adventure  in  Sir  Thomas's  book.  The 
general  sweep  of  the  story,  as  he  has  put  it  to 
gether,  is  this :  Old  King  Uther  Pendragon  hav 
ing  died,  there  is  trouble  who  shall  be  king  in 
his  place.  During  this  trouble,  one  day,  a  stone 
appears  with  a  sword  sticking  in  it;  and  who  can 
draw  out  that  sword  from  the  stone,  he  shall  be 
king.  Many  try,  and  fail;  until  at  last  a  boy 
named  Arthur,  who  has  been  brought  up  by  the 
prophet  Merlin,  and  who  is  (though  not  so 
known)  really  the  son  of  Uther,  takes  the  sword 
by  the  hilt  and  draws  it  out  with  ease.  He  be- 


Of  the  Round  Table  27 

comes  King  Arthur,  and  straightway  gathers 
about  him  a  company  of  strong  and  faithful 
knights,  who  form  a  brilliant  court,  around 
which  all  the  adventures  of  the  time  thereafter 
seem  to  turn.  The  story  now  for  a  while  goes 
mainly  upon  Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake,  the 
strongest  knight  of  the  world;  and  many  wild 
adventures  of  his  are  related.  The  main  figure 
then,  for  a  little  while,  becomes  one  Sir  Gareth, 
of  Orkney,  who  was  nicknamed  Beaumains.  He 
comes  one  day  in  disguise  to  Arthur's  court,  and 
begs  to  be  allowed  to  serve  in  Arthur's  kitchen 
for  a  year.  Unheeding  the  scornful  jokes  of  the 
by-standers,  he  passes  his  year  in  the  kitchen ;  but 
he  is  always  at  hand  when  any  deed  of  arms  is 
going  on  about  the  palace.  At  the  end  of  the 
year,  a  person  in  distress  appears  one  day  at 
Arthur's  palace,  and  asks  that  some  knight  will 
undertake  a  desperate  enterprise.  Beaumains 
begs  the  honor;  and,  amid  many  jeers,  for  many 
days,  always  scorned  and  flouted,  fights  battle 
after  battle,  with  knight  after  knight,  conquers 
them,  and  binds  them  to  appear  at  King  Arthur's 
court  on  a  certain  time,  as  his  prisoners,  and 
finally  wins  such  worship  that  all  jeers  are 
silenced,  and  he  is  triumphantly  made  Knight  of 
the  Round  Table. 

We  are  now  introduced  to  a  new  hero,  Sir 


28      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

Tristam  de  Lyonesse,  who  is  beset  with  the  toils 
of  the  ungrateful  and  treacherous  King  Mark 
of  Cornwall,  and  by  many  wanderings  and  ad 
ventures  comes  to  King  Arthur's  court,  where 
he  is  made  Knight  of  the  Round  Table,  and  is 
the  strongest  knight  of  all  the  world  save  Sir 
Launcelot.  A  great  change  here  comes  upon 
the  story.  It  is  noised  that  the  Holy  Cup  called 
the  "Saint  Grail,"  in  which  the  blood  of  the 
Saviour  was  said  to  have  been  caught  as  it  flowed, 
had  been  preserved  by  Joseph  of  Arimathea, 
and  is  now  in  England,  full  of  miraculous 
powers. 

At  this,  all  the  knights  depart  in  search 
of  it,  and  we  have  the  wonderful  adventures  of 
the  famous  "Quest  of  the  Saint  Grail,"  during 
which  Sir  Galahad,  the  purest  knight  of  the 
whole  world,  comes  upon  the  scene,  with  the 
gentle  and  winning  Sir  Percival.  Sir  Galahad 
finds  the  Holy  Grail,  and  dies  soon  afterward; 
the  knights — those  who  are  left  alive — return 
to  King  Arthur's  court,  and  he,  who  had  spent 
his  days  in  sorrowful  foreboding  ever  since  they 
departed,  dreams  again  of  renewing  his  old 
brilliant  Round  Table.  But  a  shadow  soon 
darkens  the  court,  and  presently  overglooms  all. 
Queen  Guenever  makes  a  great  banquet  to  the 
returned  knights,  and  all  is  merry  until  suddenly 


Of  the  Round  Table  29 

a  knight  tastes  of  an  apple  and  falls  down  dead. 
The  kinsmen  of  that  knight  accuse  the  queen  of 
poisoning  him;  and  she  is  condemned  to  be 
burned,  unless  by  a  certain  day  a  champion 
appear  to  prove  her  innocence  by  the  gage  of 
battle. 

The  day  comes,  the  stake  and  fire  are  made 
ready;  but  Sir  Launcelot  in  disguise  dashes 
into  the  lists  and  defeats  her  accuser.  Never 
theless,  treachery  and  discord  are  now  at  work; 
Sir  Mordred  is  plotting;  Sir  Gawaine  conceives 
a  violent  hatred  against  Sir  Launcelot;  King 
Arthur  allows  Sir  Gawaine  to  lead  him;  and 
presently  we  have  the  forces  of  King  Arthur 
besieging  Sir  Launcelot  in  his  castle  of  Joyous 
Card;  the  talk  over  the  walls  here  between  Sir 
Launcelot  and  Sir  Gawaine;  the  magnificent 
control  of  Sir  Launcelot,  who  ever  tries  to  avoid 
the  war;  the  patient  goodliness  with  which  he 
reasons  away  the  taunts  of  Gawaine  and  the 
king;  the  care  with  which  he  instructs  his 
knights  and  soldiers  to  do  no  harm  to  King 
Arthur,  on  pain  of  death ;  and  the  tender  loyalty 
with  which,  one  day,  he  himself  rescues  King 
Arthur,  who  has  been  hurt  and  thrown,  sets  the 
king  on  horseback,  and  conducts  him  into  safety; 
all  these  are  here  told  with  such  simple  art  and 
strength  as  must  strike  the  soul  of  every  reader, 


30      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

old  and  young.  Finally  King  Arthur,  after 
twice  levying  war  upon  Sir  Launcelot,  is  recalled 
by  the  treachery  of  Sir  Mordred,  whom  he  left 
in  charge  of  the  kingdom,  but  who  has  taken 
advantage  of  his  absence  to  seize  the  realm  into 
his  own  hands,  and  is  even  trying  to  compel 
Queen  Guenever  to  be  his  wife.  Many  battles 
follow,  until,  in  a  great  final  struggle,  Arthur  is 
wounded  to  death,  in  the  act  of  killing  Mordred ; 
and  the  scene  closes  with  the  pathetic  and  beau 
tiful  departure  of  Sir  Launcelot  from  this 
world;  who,  with  some  old  companions  that 
remained,  had  become  holy  men  after  the  death 
of  their  king,  and  served  God  until  He  took 
them  to  Him. 

In  the  two  engravings  given  herewith,  the 
artist  has  very  pleasantly  endeavored  to  make 
us  eye-witnesses  of  at  least  the  critical  moments 
in  some  of  the  adventures  with  which  our  "His 
tory  of  King  Arthur"  overflows;  and  I  cannot 
do  better  than  give  you,  in  Sir  Thomas's  own 
words,  as  far  as  possible,  an  outline  of  the  stories 
thus  illustrated. 

In  looking,  then,  at  the  picture  called  "Sir 
Ector  and  Sir  Turquine,"  please  fancy  that, 
on  a  certain  morning,  Sir  Launcelot  finds  that  he 
has  rested  and  played  long  enough  at  court  since 
the  great  Roman  victories  of  King  Arthur,  and, 


SIR    ECTOR    AND    SIR    TURgUINE 


Of  the  Round  Table  3 1 

turning  his  back  upon  the  gay  life  there,  sets 
forth,  with  his  nephew,  Sir  Lionel,  through 
forest  and  plain,  upon  knight-errantry.  The  two 
straightway  fall  into  adventures  enough;  but 
meantime  Sir  Ector,  with  whom  we  are  here 
concerned,  discovering  that  Sir  Launcelot  has 
left  the  court,  through  great  love  and  anxiety 
hurries  forth  after  him,  to  help  him,  if  need  be. 
"Then,"  says  Sir  Thomas,  "when  Sir  Ector  had 
ridden  long  in  a  great  forest,  he  met  with  a  man 
that  was  like  a  forester.  'Fair  sir,'  said  Sir 
Ector,  'knowest  thou  in  this  country  any  ad 
ventures  that  be  here  nigh-hand?' 

"  'Sir,'  said  the  forester,  'this  country  know  I 
well,  and  hereby  within  this  mile  is  a  strong 
manor  and  well  dyked''  (that  is,  moated), 
"  'and  by  that  manor,  on  the  left  hand,  there  is 
a  fair  ford  for  horses  to  drink  of,  and  over  that 
ford  there  groweth  a  fair  tree,  and  thereon 
hangeth  many  fair  shields,  which  have  been  con 
quered  from  good  knights;  and  at  the  hollow  of 
the  tree  hangeth  a  bason  of  copper ;  strike  upon 
that  bason  with  the  butt  of  thy  spear  thrice,  and 
soon  after  thou  shalt  hear  new  tidings.'  '  Sir 
Ector  thanks  him,  and,  upon  riding  up  to  the 
tree,  finds  it  all  be-hung  with  shields,  which  some 
victorious  knight  has  won  from  their  owners 
and  thus  displayed.  Upon  looking  more  closely, 


32      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

Sir  Ector  is  stricken  with  grief  to  see  hanging 
there  the  shield  of  his  brother,  Sir  Lionel.  He 
is  inflamed  to  right  this  matter.  "Then  anon 
Sir  Ector  beat  on  the  bason  as  he  were  wood" 
(that  is,  crazy),  "and  then  he  gave  his  horse 
drink  at  the  ford;  and  there  came  a  knight  be 
hind  him  and  bade  him  come  out  of  the  water 
and  make  him  ready;  and  Sir  Ector  turned  hirn 
shortly,  and  in  rest  cast  his  spear,  and  smote  the 
other  knight  a  great  buffet  that  his  horse  turned 
twice  about.  'This  was  well  done*'  said  the 
strong  knight,  'and  knightly  thou  hast  stricken 
me';  and  therewith  he  rushed  his  horse  on  Sir 
Ector,  and  caught  him  under  his  right  arm,  and 
bare  him  clean  out  of  his  saddle" — as  you  see  in 
the  engraving — "and  rode  with  him  away  into 
his  own  hall,  and  threw  him  down  in  the  midst 
of  the  floor.  The  name  of  this  knight  was  Sir 
Turquine."  It  is  not  long,  however,  before 
Sir  Launcelot,  after  passing  through  many  toils 
and  enchantments — spread  about  him  by  four 
queens  who  had  taken  him  sleeping — fares 
hither,  defeats  the  strong  Sir  Turquine  in  a  ter 
rible  fight,  and  delivers  Sir  Ector,  along  with  a 
great  number  of  prisoned  knights. 

In  another  engraving,  called  "Sir  Beaumains 
and  the  Black  Knight,"  we  have  one  of  the 
numerous  encounters  in  the  long  series  which 


Of  the  Round  Table  33 

was  undertaken  for  a  damsel  by  our  Sir  Gareth 
of  Orkney,  already  mentioned  in  the  general 
sketch.  He  had  been  nicknamed  "Beaumains" 
by  Sir  Kay,  for  the  largeness  of  his  hands; 
but  with  incredible  meekness,  long-suffering, 
strength,  and  valor,  he  made  the  name  one  of 
the  most  honorable  at  Arthur's  court.  After 
riding  forth  with  the  damsel  upon  her  adven 
ture;  after  overcoming  several  knights;  after  en 
during  the  bitter  tongue  of  the  very  damsel  he 
is  fighting  for,  who  ever  chides  him  as  a  base 
"kitchen-knave,"  better  among  pots  and  pans 
than  swords  and  armor:  one  day  Beaumains 
"rode  with  that  lady  till  even-song  time" — 
vespers — "and  ever  she  chid  him,  and  would 
not  rest. 

"And  then  they  came  to  a  black  lawn,  and 
there  was  a  black  hawthorn,  and  thereon  hung 
a  black  banner,  and  on  the  other  side  there  hung 
a  black  shield,  and  by  it  stood  a  black  spear, 
great  and  long,  and  a  great  black  horse  covered 
with  silk,  and  a  black  stone  fast  by.  There  sat 
a  knight  all  armed  in  black  harness,  and  his 
name  was  'The  Knight  of  the  Black  Lawn.' ' 
The  damsel  advises  Beaumains  to  flee.  "Gra- 
mercy,"  says  Beaumains,  and  quietly  holds  his 
ground.  The  Black  Knight  asks  if  this  is  the 
damsel's  champion.  "Nay,  fair  knight,"  said 


34      King  Arthur  and  His  Knights 

she,  "this  is  but  a  kitchen-knave  that  was  fed  in 
King  Arthur's  kitchen  for  alms." 

Thereupon,  after  some  talk  with  the  damsel, 
the  Black  Knight  concludes  to  be  merciful  to  the 
kitchen-knave,  and  says:  "This  much  shall  I 
grant  you.  I  shall  put  him  down  upon  one  foot, 
and  his  horse  and  his  harness"  (his  "harness" 
is  his  armor}  "shall  he  leave  with  me,  for  it 
were  shame  to  me  to  do  him  any  more  harm." 
But  Beaumains,  the  kitchen-knave,  is  not  so 
minded.  "Sir  knight,"  he  says,  and  one  can 
easily  enough  fancy  that  his  chin  is  a  little  in  the 
air,  and  his  neck-muscle  straight,  and  his  voice 
marvellous  low  and  steady — "Sir  knight,  thou 
art  full  liberal  of  my  horse  and  harness;  I  let 
thee  know  it  cost  thee  naught;  and  whether  it 
like  thee  or  not,  this  lawn  will  I  pass  maugre" 
(in  spite  of)  "thine  head;  and  horse  nor  harness 
gettest  thou  none  of  me,  but  if  thou  win  them 
with  thy  hands;  and  therefore  let  see  what  thou 
canst  do." 

Then  they  departed  with  their  horses,  and 
came  together  as  it  had  been  the  thunder;  and 
the  Black  Knight's  spear  broke,  and  Beaumains 
thrust  his  through  both  his  sides,  and  therewith 
his  spear  broke,  and  the  truncheon  left  still  in 
the  side.  But,  nevertheless,  the  Black  Knight 
drew  his  sword  and  smote  many  eager  strokes, 


35 

one  of  which  strokes  the  Black  Knight,  with  the 
truncheon  sticking  in  his  side,  is  just  delivering 
upon  Beaumains's  shield,  in  the  picture — "and 
hurt  Beaumains  full  sore." 

The  battle,  however,  is  won,  after  great  tribu 
lation,  by  Beaumains ;  who  then  goes  on  to  many 
adventures,  still  reasoning  away  the  bitter  scold 
ings  of  the  damsel,  until  finally — as  he  had  an 
nounced  at  starting — he  "wins  worship  worship- 
fully,"  marries  a  fair  bride  won  in  the  course  of 
his  adventures,  and  has  all  men  to  his  friends. 

And  so  runs  the  record  of  numberless  like  ad 
ventures,  until  those  last  days  when  the  fair 
fellowship  ends  with  the  death  of  King  Arthur. 


Ill 

THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  LEONOR 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  LEONOR 

ONCE  upon  a  time  St.  Leonor,  with  sixty  dis 
ciples,  came  to  an  inhospitable  region  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Ranee  in  Armorica,  and  settled. 
Their  food  was  of  the  rudest  description,  being 
only  what  they  could  obtain  from  the  woods  and 
waters.  One  day  the  good  Bishop  Leonor,  while 
praying,  happened  to  see  a  small  bird  carrying 
a  grain  of  wheat  in  its  beak.  He  immediately 
set  a  monk  to  watching  the  bird,  with  instructions 
to  follow  it  when  it  flew  away.  The  monk  fol 
lowed  the  bird,  and  was  led  to  a  place  in  the  for 
est,  where  he  found  several  stalks  of  wheat 
growing.  This  was  probably  the  last  relic  of 
some  ancient  Gallo-Roman  farm.  St.  Leonor, 
on  learning  the  news,  was  overjoyed.  "We 
must  clear  the  forest  and  cultivate  the  ground," 
he  exclaimed,  and  immediately  put  the  sixty  at 
work.  Now  the  work  was  hard,  and  the  sixty 
disciples  groaned  with  tribulation  as  they  toiled 
and  sweated  over  the  stubborn  oaks  and  the 
briery  underbrush.  But  when  they  came  to 
plough,  the  labor  seemed  beyond  all  human  en- 

39 


449701 


40  The  Legend  of  St.  Leonor 

durance.  I  do  not  know  how  they  ploughed; 
but  it  is  fair  to  suspect  that  they  had  nothing 
better  than  forked  branches  of  the  gnarly  oaks 
with  sharpened  points  for  ploughs,  and  as  there 
is  no  mention  of  cattle  in  the  legend,  the  pre 
sumption  is  fair  that  these  good  brothers  hitched 
themselves  to  the  plough  and  pulled.  This  pre 
sumption  is  strengthened  by  the  circumstance 
that,  in  a  short  time,  the  sixty  rebelled  outright. 
They  begged  the  Bishop  to  abandon  agriculture 
and  go  away  from  that  place. 

But  the  stout  old  father  would  not  recede. 
No;  we  must  get  into  beneficial  relations  with 
this  soil.  Then  the  monks  assembled  together 
by  night,  and,  having  compared  opinions,  found 
it  the  sense  of  the  meeting  that  they  should  leave 
the  very  next  day,  even  at  pain  of  the  abandon 
ment  of  the  Bishop.  So,  next  morning,  when 
they  were  about  to  go,  behold !  a  miracle  stopped 
them  :  twelve  magnificent  stags  marched  proudly 
out  of  the  forest  and  stood  by  the  ploughs,  as 
if  inviting  the  yoke.  The  monks  seized  the  op 
portunity.  They  harnessed  the  stags,  and  these 
diligently  drew  the  ploughs  all  that  day.  When 
the  day's  work  was  done,  and  the  stags  were 
loosed  from  harness,  they  retired  into  the  forest. 
But  next  morning  the  faithful  wild  creatures 
again  made  their  appearance  and  submitted  their 


The  Legend  of  St.  Leonor  41 

royal  necks  to  the  yoke.  Five  weeks  and  three 
days  did  these  animals  labor  for  the  brethren. 

When  the  ground  was  thoroughly  prepared, 
the  Bishop  pronounced  his  blessing  upon  the 
stags,  and  they  passed  quietly  back  into  the  re 
cesses  of  the  forest.  Then  the  Bishop  sowed  his 
wheat,  and  that  field  was  the  father  of  a  thou 
sand  other  wheat-fields,  and  of  a  thousand  other 
homes,  with  all  the  amenities  and  sweetnesses 
which  are  implied  in  that  ravishing  word. 

Now,  here  is  the  point  of  this  legend  in  this 
place.  Of  course,  the  twelve  stags  did  not  ap 
pear  from  the  forest  and  plough;  and  yet  the 
story  is  true.  The  thing  which  actually  hap 
pened  was  that  the  Bishop  Leonor,  by  his  intelli 
gence,  foresight,  practical  wisdom,  and  faithful 
perseverance,  reclaimed  a  piece  of  stubborn  and 
impracticable  ground,  and  made  it  good,  arable 
soil.  ( It  is  also  probable  that  the  story  was  im 
mediately  suggested  by  the  retaming  of  cattle 
which  the  ancient  Gallo-Roman  people  had  al 
lowed  to  run  wild.  The  bishops  did  this  some 
times.)  This  was  a  practical  enough  thing;  it 
is  being  done  every  day;  it  was  just  as  prosaic 
as  any  commercial  transaction. 

But,  mark  you,  the  people — for  this  legend 
is  a  pure  product  of  the  popular  imagination  of 
Brittany — the  people  who  came  after  saw  how 


42  The  Legend  of  St.  Leonor 

the  prosaic  wheat-field  of  the  Bishop  had  flow 
ered  into  the  poetical  happiness  of  the  rude  and 
wild  inhabitants  who  began  to  gather  about  his 
wheat-patch,  and  to  plant  fields  and  build  homes 
of  their  own;  and,  seeing  that  the  prose  had 
actually  become  thus  poetic,  the  people  (who  love 
to  tell  things  as  they  really  are,  and  in  their  deep 
er  relations) — the  people  have  related  it  in  terms 
of  poetry.  The  bird  and  the  stags  are  terms  of 
poetry.  But,  notice  again,  that  these  are  not 
silly,  poetic  licenses ;  they  are  not  merely  a  child's 
embellishments  of  a  story;  the  bird  and  the  stags 
are  not  real;  but  they  are  true. 

For  what  do  they  mean?  They  mean  the 
power  of  Nature.  They  mean,  as  here  inserted, 
that  if  a  man  go  forth,  sure  of  his  mission,  fer 
vently  loving  his  fellow-men,  working  for  their 
benefit;  if  he  adhere  to  his  mission  through  good 
and  evil  report;  if  he  resist  all  endeavor  to  turn 
him  from  it,  and  faithfully  stand  to  his  purpose 
— presently  he  will  succeed;  for  the  powers  of 
Nature  will  come  forth  out  of  the  recesses  of  the 
universe  and  offer  themselves  as  draught-ani 
mals  to  his  plough.  The  popular  legend  is 
merely  an  affirmation  in  concrete  forms  of  this 
principle;  the  people,  who  are  all  poets,  know 
this  truth.  We  moderns,  indeed — we,  whose 
practical  experiences  beggar  the  wildest  dreams 


The  Legend  of  St.  Leonor  43 

of  antiquity — have  seen  a  wilder  (beast)  creat 
ure  than  a  stag  come  out  of  the  woods  for  a 
faithful  man.  We  have  seen  steam  come  and 
plough  the  seas  for  Fulton;  we  have  seen  light 
ning  come  and  plough  the  wastes  of  space  for 
Franklin  and  Morse. 


IV 
POEMS 


TAMPA    ROBINS 

THE  robin  laughed  in  the  orange-tree : 
"Ho,  windy  North,  a  fig  for  thee : 
While  breasts  are  red  and  wings  are  bold 
And  green  trees  wave  us  globes  of  gold, 
Time's  scythe  shall  reap  but  bliss  for  me 
— Sunlight,  song,  and  the  orange-tree. 

"Burn,  golden  globes  in  leafy  sky, 
My  orange-planets:  crimson  I 
Will  shine  and  shoot  among  the  spheres 
(Blithe  meteor  that  no  mortal  fears) 
And  thrid  the  heavenly  orange-tree 
With  orbits  bright  of  minstrelsy. 

"If  that  I  hate  wild  winter's  spite — 
The  gibbet  trees,  the  world  in  white, 
The  sky  but  gray  wind  over  a  grave — 
Why  should  I  ache,  the  season's  slave? 

I'll  sing  from  the  top  of  the  orange-tree 

Gramercy,  winter's  tyranny. 

"I'll  south  with  the  sun,  and  keep  my  clime; 
My  wing  is  king  of  the  summer-time; 

47 


48  Poems 

My  breast  to  the  sun  his  torch  shall  hold; 

And  I'll  call  down  through  the  green  and  gold 
Time,  take  thy  scythe,  reap  bliss  for  me, 
Bestir  thee  under  the  orange-tree." 


STREET-CRIES 

OFT  seems  the  Time  a  market-town 
Where  many  merchant-spirits  meet 

Who  up  and  down  and  up  and  down 
Cry  out  along  the  street 

Their  needs,  as  wares;  one  thus,  one  so: 
Till  all  the  ways  are  full  of  sound : 

— But  still  come  rain,  and  sun,  and  snow, 
And  still  the  world  goes  round. 


BARNACLES 

i 

MY  soul  is  sailing  through  the  sea, 
But  the  Past  is  heavy  and  hindereth  me. 
The  Past  hath  crusted  cumbrous  shells 
That  hold  the  flesh  of  cold  sea-mells 
About  my  soul. 


Poems  49 

The  huge  waves  wash,  the  high  waves  roll, 
Each  barnacle  clingeth  and  worketh  dole 
And  hindereth  me  from  sailing! 


II 

Old  Past  let  go,  and  drop  i'  the  sea 
Till  fathomless  waters  cover  thee ! 
For  I  am  living  but  thou  art  dead; 
Thou  drawest  back,  I  strive  ahead 

The  day  to  find. 

Thy    shells    unbind!     Night   comes   behind, 
I   needs   must  hurry  with  the  wind 

And  trim  me  best  for  sailing. 


FAME 

SPINNING  a  web  to  hang  i'  the  sun 

To  catch  that  Butterfly,  Fame; 
But  when  he's  fastened,  and  all's  done, 

What  have  I  then  for  game? 

A  fly  with  two  black  spots  on  his  wings 

And  a  slim,  slim  body  between, 
Whose  legs  are  the  slenderest,  weakest  things  1 

And  I've  even  rubbed  off  his  sheen. 


50  Poems 


THE    TOURNAMENT 

JOUST    FIRST 


BRIGHT  shone  the  lists,  blue  bent  the  skies, 
And  the  knights  still  hurried  amain, 

To  the  tournament  under  the  ladies'  eyes, 
Where  the  jousters  were  Heart  and  Brain. 

II 

Flourished  the  trumpets:  entered  Heart, 

A  youth  in  crimson  and  gold. 
Flourished  again:  Brain  stood  apart, 

Steel-armored,  dark  and  cold. 

ill 

Heart's  palfrey  caracoled  gayly  round, 

Heart  tra-li-ra'd  merrily; 
But  Brain  sat  still,  with  never  a  sound, 

So  cynical-calm  was  he. 

IV 

Heart's  helmet-crest  bore  favors  three 
From  his  lady's  white  hand  caught; 


Poems  5 1 

While  Brain  wore  a  plumeless  casque;  not  he, 
Or  favor  gave  or  sought. 


The  herald  blew;  Heart  shot  a  glance, 

To  find  his  lady's  eye, 
But  Brain  gazed  straight  ahead,  his  lance 

To  aim  more  faithfully. 

VI 

They  charged,  they  struck ;  both  fell,  both  bled, 

Brain  rose  again,  ungloved, 
Heart,  dying,  smiled,  and  faintly  said, 

"My  love  to  my  beloved." 

JOUST   SECOND 


A-MANY  sweet  eyes  wept  and  wept, 

A-many  bosoms  heaved  again; 
A-many  dainty  dead  hopes  slept 

With  yonder  Heart-knight  prone  o'  the  plain. 

II 

Yet  stars  will  burn  through  any  mists, 

And  the  ladies'  eyes,  through  rains  of  fate, 

Still  beamed  upon  the  bloody  lists, 
And  lit  the  joust  of  Love  and  Hate. 


52  Poems 


ill 


O  strange !  or  ere  a  trumpet  blew, 
Or  ere  a  challenge-word  was  given, 

A  knight  leapt  down  i'  the  lists;  none  knew 
Whether  he  sprang  from  earth  or  heaven. 


IV 


His  cheek  was  soft  as  a  lily-bud, 

His  gray  eyes  calmed  his  youth's  alarm; 
Nor  helm  nor  hauberk  nor  even  a  hood 

Had  he  to  shield  his  life  from  harm. 


No  falchion  from  his  baldric  swung, 
He  wore  a  white  rose  in  its  place. 

No  dagger  at  his  girdle  hung, 

But  only  an  olive-branch,  for  grace. 


VI 

And  "Come,  thou  poor  mistaken  knight," 
Cried  Love,  unarmed,  yet  dauntless  there, 

"Come  on,  God  pity  thee ! — I  fight 

Sans  sword,  sans  shield;  yet,  Hate,  beware!" 


Poems  53 


VII 

Spurred  furious  Hate;  he  foamed  at  mouth, 
His  breath  was  hot  upon  the  air, 

His  breath  scorched  souls,  as  a  dry  drought 
Withers  green  trees  and  burns  them  bare. 

VIII 

Straight  drives  he  at  his  enemy, 
His  hairy  hands  grip  lance  in  rest, 

His  lance  gleams  full  bitterly, 

God! — gleams,    true-point,   on    Love's   bare 
breast ! 

IX 

Love's  gray  eyes  glow  with  a  heaven-heat, 
Love  lifts  his  hand  in  a  saintly  prayer; 

Look!    Hate  hath  fallen  at  his  feet! 
Look!    Hate  hath  vanished  in  the  air! 

x 

Then  all  the  throng  looked  kind  on  all; 

Eyes  yearned,   lips  kissed,  dumb  souls  were 

freed ; 
Two  magic  maids'  hands  lifted  a  pall, 

And  the  dead  knight,  Heart,  sprang  on  his 
steed. 


54  Poems 

XI 

Then  Love  cried,   "Break  me  his  lance  each 

knight ! 
Ye   shall   fight    for   blood-athirst    Fame   no 

more !" 

And  the  knights  all  doffed  their  mailed  might 
And  dealt  out  dole  on  dole  to  the  poor. 

XII 

Then  dove-flights  sanctified  the  plain, 
And  hawk  and  sparrow  shared  a  nest. 

And  the  great  sea  opened  and  swallowed  Pain, 
And  out  of  this  water-grave  floated  Rest ! 


A   SONG   OF   THE    FUTURE 

SAIL  fast,  sail  fast, 
Ark  of  my  hopes,  Ark  of  my  dreams; 

Sweep  lordly  o'er  the  drowned  Past, 
Fly  glittering  through  the  sun's  strange  beams; 

Sail  fast,  sail  fast. 

Breaths  of  new  buds  from  off  some  drying  lea 
With  news  about  the  Future  scent  the  sea ; 
My  brain  is  beating  like  the  heart  of  Haste; 
I'll  loose  me  a  bird  upon  this  Present  waste; 


Poems  55 

Go,  trembling  song, 
And  stay  not  long;  oh,  stay  not  long: 
Thou'rt  only  a  gray  and  sober  dove, 
But  thine  eye  is  faith  and  thy  wing  is  love. 


LIFE   AND    SONG 

"!F  life  were  caught  by  a  clarionet, 

And  a  wild  heart,  throbbing  in  the  reed, 

Should  thrill  its  joy  and  trill  its  fret, 
And  utter  its  heart  in  every  deed, 

"Then  would  this  breathing  clarionet, 
Type  what  the  poet  fain  would  be; 

For  none  o'  the  singers  ever  yet 
Has  wholly  lived  his  minstrelsy, 

"Or  clearly  sung  his  true,  true  thought, 
Or  utterly  bodied  forth  his  life, 

Or  out  of  life  and  song  has  wrought 
The  perfect  one  of  man  and  wife; 

"Or  lived  and  sung,  that  Life  and  Song 
Might  each  express  the  other's  all, 

Careless  if  life  or  art  were  long, 

Since  both  were  one,  to  stand  or  fall: 


56  Poems 

"So  that  the  wonder  struck  the  crowd, 
Who  shouted  it  about  the  land: 

His  song  was  only  living  aloud, 

His  work,  a  singing  with  his  hand!" 


THE   FIRST   STEAMBOAT  UP  THE 
ALABAMA 

You,  Dinah  !   Come  and  set  me  whar  de  ribber- 

roads  does  meet. 
De  Lord,  He  made  dese  black-jack  roots  to  twis' 

into  a  seat. 
Umph,  dar!    De  Lord  have  mussy  on  dis  blin' 

ole  nigger's  feet. 

It  'pear  to  me  dis  mornin'  I  kin  smell  de  fust  o' 
June. 

I  'clar',  I  b'lieve  dat  mockin'-bird  could  play  de 
fidd'e  soon ! 

Dem  yonder  town-bells  sounds  like  dey  was  ring- 
in'  in  de  moon. 

Well,  ef  dis  nigger  is  been  blind  for  fo'ty  year 

or  mo', 
Dese  ears,  dey  sees  de  world,  like,  th'u'  de  cracks 

dat's  in  de  do'. 
For  de  Lord  has  built  dis  body  wid  de  windows 

'hind  and  'fo'. 


Poems  57 

I  know  my  front  ones  is  stopped  up,  and  things 

is  sort  o'  dim, 
But  den,  th'u'  dem,  temptation's  rain  won't  leak 

in  on  ole  Jim ! 
De  back  ones  show  me  earth  enough,  aldo'  dey's 

mons'ous  slim. 

And  as  for  Hebben — bless  de  Lord,  and  praise 

His  holy  name — 
Dat  shines  in  all  de  co'ners  of  dis  cabin  jes'  de 

same 
As  ef  dat  cabin  hadn't  nar'  a  plank  upon  de 

frame ! 


Who  call  me  ?   Listen  down  de  ribber,  Dinah ! 

Don't  you  hyar 
Somebody  holl'in'  "//oo,  Jim,  hoof"   My  Sarah 

died  las'  y'ar; 
Is  dat  black  angel  done  come  back  to  call  ole 

Jim  f'om  hyar? 

My  stars,  dat  cain't  be  Sarah,  shuh !   Jes'  listen, 

Dinah,  now! 
What  kin  be  comin'  up  dat  bend,  a-makin'  sich  a 

row? 
Fus'  bellerin'  like  a  pawin'  bull,  den  squealin', 

like  a  sow  ? 


58  Poems 

De  Lord  'a'  mussy,  sakes  alive,  jes'  hear — ker- 

woof,  ker-woof — 
De  Debbie's  comin'  round  dat  bend,  he's  comin' 

shuh  enuff, 
A-splashin'  up  de  water  wid  his  tail  and  wid  his 

hoof! 

I'se  pow'ful  skeered;  but  neversomeless  I  ain't 

gwine  run  away: 
I'm  gwine  to  stand  stiff-legged  for  de  Lord  dis 

blessed  day. 
You  screech,  and  swish  de  water,  Satan!     I'se 

a-gwine  to  pray. 

O  hebbenly  Marster,  what  Thou  wiliest,   dat 

mus'  be  jes'  so, 
And.   ef   Thou   hast   bespoke   de   word,    some 

nigger's  bound  to  go. 
Den,  Lord,  please  take  old  Jim,  and  leV  young 

Dinah  hyar  below ! 

'Scuse  Dinah,  'scuse  her,  Marster;  for  she's  sich 

a  little  chile, 
She  hardly  jes'  begin  to  scramble  up  de  homeyard 

stile, 
But  dis  ole  traveller's  feet  been  tired  dis  many 

a  many  mile ! 


Poems  59 

Fse  wufless  as  de  rotten  pole  of  las'  year's  fodder- 
stack. 

De  rheumatiz  done  bit  my  bones;  you  hear  'em 
crack  and  crack? 

I  cain't  sit  down  'dout  gruntin'  like  'twas  break- 
in'  o'  my  back. 

What  use  de  wheel,  when  hub  and  spokes  is 
warped  and  split,  and  rotten? 

What  use  dis  dried-up  cotton-stalk,  when  Life 
done  picked  my  cotton  ? 

Fse  like  a  word  dat  somebody  said,  and  den  done 
been  forgotten. 

But  Dinah!     Shuh  dat  gal  jes'   like  dis  little 

hick'ry  tree, 
De  sap's  jes'  risin'  in  her;  she  do  grow  owda- 

ciouslee — 
Lord,  ef  you's  cl'arin'  de  underbrush,  don't  cut 

her  down,  cut  me ! 

I  would  not  proud  presume — but  I'll  boldly  make 
reques' ; 

Sence  Jacob  had  dat  wrastlin'-match,  I,  too, 
gwine  do  my  bes' ; 

When  Jacob  got  all  underholt,  de  Lord  he  an 
swered  yes ! 


60  Poems 

And  what  for  waste  de  vittles,  now,  and  th'ow 

away  de  bread, 
Jes'  for  to  strength  dese  idle  hands  to  scratch  dis 

ole  bald  head? 
T'ink  of  de  'conomy,  Marster,  ef  dis  ole  Jim 

was  dead! 

Stop; — ef  I  don't  believe  de  Debbie's  gone  on 

up  de  stream  1 
Jes'  now  he  squealed  down  dar;  hush;  dat's  a 

mighty  weakly  scream! 
Yas,  sir,  he's  gone;  he  snort  'way  off,  like  in  a 

dream ! 

0  glory  hallelujah  to  de  Lord  dat  reigns  on 

high! 

De  Debbie's  fai'ly  skeered  to  def,  he  done  gone 
flyin'  by; 

1  know'd  he  couldn't  stand  dat  pra'r,  I  felt  my 

Marster  nigh ! 

You,  Dinah;  ain't  you  'shamed,  now,  dat  you 

didn'  trust  to  grace  ? 
I  heerd  you  thrashin'  th'u'  de  bushes  when  he 

showed  his  face ! 
You  fool,  you  think  de  Debbie  couldn't  beat  you 

in  a  race  ? 


Poems  6 1 

I  tell  you,  Dinah,  jes'  as  shuh  as  you  is  standin' 

dar, 
When  folks  starts  prayin',  answer-angels  drops 

down  th'u'  de  a'r. 
Yas,  Dinah,  whar  'ould  you  be  now,  }ei  'ceptin1 

fur  dat  pra'r? 


SONG  OF  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE 

OUT  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Down  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
I  hurry  amain  to  reach  the  plain, 
Run  the  rapid  and  leap  the  fall, 
Split  at  the  rock  and  together  again, 
Accept  my  bed,  or  narrow  or  wide, 
And  flee  from  folly  on  every  side 
With  a  lover's  pain  to  attain  the  plain 

Far  from  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Far  from  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

All  down  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
All  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  rushes  cried  Abide,  abide, 
The  wilful  water-weeds  held  me  thrall, 
The  laving  laurel  turned  my  tide, 
The  ferns  and  the  fondling  grass  said  Stay, 
The  dewberry  dipped  for  to  work  delay, 


62  Poems 

And  the  little  reeds  sighed  Abide,  abide, 
Here  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
Here  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

High  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Veiling  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  hickory  told  me  manifold 
Fair  tales  of  shade,  the  poplar  tall 
Wrought  me  her  shadowy  self  to  hold, 
The  chestnut,  the  oak,  the  walnut,  the  pine, 
Overleaning,  with  flickering  meaning  and  sign, 
Said,  Pass  not,  so  cold,  these  manifold 

Deep  shades  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

These  glades  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

And  oft  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
And  oft  in  the  valleys  of  Hall, 

The  white  quartz  shone,  and  the  smooth  brook- 
stone 

Did  bar  me  of  passage  with  friendly  brawl, 

And  many  a  luminous  jewel  lone 

— Crystals  clear  or  a-cloud  with  mist, 

Ruby,  garnet,  and  amethyst — 

Made  lures  with  the  lights  of  streaming  stone 
In  the  clefts  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
In  the  beds  of  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

But  oh,  not  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
And  oh,  not  the  valleys  of  Hall 


Poems  63 

Avail :   I  am  fain  for  to  water  the  plain. 
Downward  the  voices  of  Duty  call — 
Downward,  to  toil  and  be  mixed  with  the  main, 
The  dry  fields  burn,  and  the  mills  are  to  turn, 
And  a  myriad  flowers  mortally  yearn, 
And  the  lordly  main  from  beyond  the  plain 
Calls  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
Calls  through  the  valleys  of  Hall. 


V 

SAN  ANTONIO  DE  BEXAR 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  SAN   ANTONIO 

IF  peculiarities  were  quills,  San  Antonio  de 
Bexar  would  be  a  rare  porcupine.  Over  all  the 
round  of  aspects  in  which  a  thoughtful  mind 
may  view  a  city,  it  bristles  with  striking  con 
trasts.  Its  history,  population,  climate,  location, 
architecture,  soil,  water,  customs,  costumes, 
horses,  cattle,  all  attract  the  stranger's  attention. 
It  was  a  puling  infant  for  a  century  and  a  quar 
ter,  yet  has  grown  to  a  pretty  vigorous  youth  in 
a  quarter  of  a  century;  its  inhabitants  are  so  va 
ried  that  the  "go  slow"  directions  over  its  bridges 
are  printed  in  three  languages,  and  the  religious 
services  in  its  churches  held  in  four;  the  ther 
mometer,  the  barometer,  the  vane,  oscillate  so 
rapidly,  so  frequently,  so  lawlessly,  that  the  cli 
mate  is  simply  indescribable,  yet  it  is  a  growing 
resort  for  consumptives ;  it  stands  with  all  its  gay 
prosperity  just  in  the  edge  of  a  lonesome,  un- 
tilled  belt  of  land  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
wide ;  it  has  no  Sunday  laws,  and  that  day  finds 

67 


68  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

its  bar-rooms  and  billiard-saloons  as  freely  open 
and  as  fully  attended  as  its  churches;  its  build 
ings,  ranging  from  the  Mexican  jacal  to  the  San 
Fernando  Cathedral,  represent  all  the  progres 
sive  stages  of  man's  architectural  progress  in 
edifices  of  mud,  of  wood,  of  stone,  of  iron,  and 
of  combinations  of  those  materials;  its  soil  is  in 
wet  weather  an  inky-black  cement,  but  in  dry  a 
floury-white  powder;  it  is  built  along  both  banks 
of  two  limpid  streams,  yet  it  drinks  rain-water 
collected  in  cisterns;  its  horses  and  mules  are 
from  Lilliput,  while  its  oxen  are  from  Brob- 
dingnag. 

San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  Texas,  had  its  birth 
in  1715.  Spain  had  not  intended  to  allow  any 
settlements,  as  yet,  in  that  part  of  her  province 
of  the  New  Philippines  which  embraced  what  is 
now  called  Texas.  In  the  then  situation  of  her 
affairs,  this  policy  was  not  without  some  reasons 
to  support  it.  She  had  valuable  possessions  in 
New  Mexico :  between  these  possessions  and  the 
French  settlements  to  the  eastward  intervened 
an  enormous  breadth  of  country,  whose  obstacles 
against  intruders,  appalling  enough  in  them 
selves,  were  yet  magnified  by  the  shadowy  ter 
rors  that  haunt  an  unknown  land.  Why  not  for 
tify  her  New  Mexican  silver-mines  with  these 
barriers,  droughts,  deserts,  mountains,  rivers, 


Early  History  69 

savages,  and  nameless  fears?  Surely,  if  en 
closure  could  be  made  impregnable,  this  would 
seem  to  be  so ;  and  accordingly  the  Spanish  Gov 
ernment  had  finally  determined,  in  1694,  not  to 
revive  the  feeble  posts  and  missions  which  had 
been  established  four  years  previously  with  a 
view  to  make  head  against  the  expedition  of  La 
Salle,  but  which  had  been  abandoned  already  by 
soldier  and  friar,  in  consequence  of  the  want  of 
food  and  the  ferocity  of  the  savages. 

But  in  1712,  Anthony  Crozat,  an  enterprising 
French  merchant,  obtained  from  Louis  XIV.  a 
conditional  grant  to  the  whole  of  the  French 
province  of  Louisiana.  Crozat  believed  that  a 
lucrative  trade  might  be  established  with  the 
northeastern  provinces  of  Mexico,  and  that  mines 
might  exist  in  his  territory.  To  test  these  be 
liefs,  young  Huchereau  St.  Denis,  acting  under 
instructions  from  Cadillac,  who  had  been  ap 
pointed  Governor  of  Louisiana  by  Crozat's  in 
fluence,  started  westward,  left  a  nucleus  of  a 
settlement  at  Natchitoches,  and  proceeded  across 
the  country  to  the  Rio  Grande,  where  his  explora 
tions,  after  romantic  adventures  too  numerous  to 
be  related  here,  came  to  an  inglorious  suspension 
with  his  seizure  and  imprisonment  by  the  Spanish 
authorities  in  Mexico. 

It  was  this  expedition  which  produced  the  pre- 


70  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

mature  result  hereinbefore  alluded  to.  Spain  saw 
that  instead  of  surrounding  New  Mexico  with 
inhospitable  wastes  and  ferocious  savages,  she 
was  in  reality  but  leaving  France  free  to  occupy 
whatever  advantage  might  be  found  in  that  pro 
digious  Debatable  Land,  which  was  claimed  by 
both  and  was  held  by  neither. 

Perhaps  this  consideration  was  heightened  by 
Spain's  consciousness  that  the  flimsiness  of  her 
title  to  that  part  of  the  "New  Philippines"  which 
lay  east  of  the  Rio  Grande  really  required  an 
actual  occupation  in  order  to  bolster  it  up. 
Pretty  much  all  that  she  could  prove  in  support 
of  her  claim  was,  that  in  1494  Pope  Alexander 
VI.,  acting  as  arbitrator  between  Portugal  and 
Spain,  had  assigned  to  the  latter  all  of  the  Amer 
ican  possessions  that  lay  west  of  a  meridian  run 
ning  three  hundred  and  seventy  miles  west  of  the 
Azores;  that  De  Leon,  De  Ayllon,  De  Narvaez, 
and  De  Soto,  in  voyages  made  between  the  years 
1512  and  1538,  had  sailed  from  Cape  Florida 
to  Cape  Catorce;  and  that  Philip  II.  had  de 
nounced  the  penalty  of  extermination  against  any 
foreigner  who  should  enter  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
or  any  of  the  lands  bordering  thereupon. 

These  were,  to  say  the  least,  but  indefinite 
claims  to  title ;  and  to  them  France  could  oppose 
the  unquestionable  fact  that  La  Salle  had  coasted 


Early  History  *]\ 

the  shore  of  Texas  westward  to  Corpus  Christi 
inlet,  had  returned  along  the  same  route,  had  ex 
plored  bays  and  rivers  and  named  them,  and 
had  finally  built  a  fort  in  1685.  Here  now,  in 
1714,  to  crown  all,  was  the  daring  young  Lord 
Huchereau  St.  Denis  traversing  the  whole  land 
from  Natchitoches  to  the  Rio  Grande,  and 
thrusting  in  his  audacious  face  like  an  apparition, 
of  energy  upon  the  sleepy  routines  of  post-life 
and  mission-life  at  San  Juan  Bautista. 

This  was  alarming,  and  in  1715  the  Duke  of 
Linares,  Viceroy  of  Mexico,  despatched  Don 
Domingo  Ramon  to  Texas  with  a  party  of  troops 
and  some  Franciscan  friars,  to  take  steps  for  the 
permanent  occupation  of  the  country.  Ramon 
established  several  forts  and  missions;  among 
others  he  located  a  fort  on  the  western  bank  of 
San  Pedro  River,  a  small  stream  flowing  through 
the  western  suburbs  of  the  present  city  of  San 
Antonio  de  Bexar.  This  fort  was  called  San  An 
tonio  de  Valero.  In  May,  1718,  certain  Francis 
cans,  of  the  College  of  Queretaro,  established  a 
mission  under  the  protection  of  the  fort,  calling  it 
by  the  same  invocation,  San  Antonio  de  Valero. 
It  was  this  mission  whose  Church  of  the  Alamo 
afterward  shed  so  red  a  glory  upon  the  Texan 
revolution.  It  had  been  founded  fifteen  years 
before,  in  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  under 


72  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

the  invocation  of  San  Francisco  Solano;  had  been 
removed  in  1708,  and  again  removed  back  to 
the  Rio  Grande  in  1710  under  the  new  invoca 
tion  of  San  Jose.  It  had  not  indeed  yet  reached 
the  end  of  its  wanderings.  In  1722,  both  the 
fortress  and  mission  of  San  Antonio  de  Valero 
were  removed  to  what  is  now  known  as  the  Mili 
tary  Plaza,  and  a  permanent  system  of  improve 
ments  begun. 

Here  then,  with  sword  and  crozier,  Spain  set 
to  work  at  once  to  reduce  her  wild  claim  into 
possession,  and  to  fulfil  the  condition  upon  which 
Pope  Alexander  had  granted  her  the  country — 
of  Christianizing  its  natives.  One  cannot  but 
lean  one's  head  on  one's  hand  to  dream  out,  for 
a  moment,  this  old  Military  Plaza — most  singu 
lar  spot  on  the  wide  expanse  of  the  lonesome 
Texan  prairies — as  it  was  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago.  The  rude  buildings,  the  church,  the 
hospital,  the  soldiers'  dwellings,  the  brethren's 
lodgings,  the  huts  for  the  converted  Indians, 
stand  ranged  about  the  large  level  quadrangle,  so 
placed  upon  the  theory  of  protection.  Ah,  here 
they  come,  the  inhabitants  of  San  Antonio,  from 
the  church-door;  vespers  is  over;  the  big-thighed, 
bow-legged,  horse-riding  Apache  steps  forth, 
slowly,  for  he  is  yet  in  a  maze — the  burning 
candles,  the  shrine,  the  chants,  are  all  yet  whirl- 


Early  History  73 

ing  in  his  memory;  the  lazy  soldier  slouches  by, 
leering  at  him,  yet  observing  a  certain  care  not  to 
be  seen  therein,  for  Serior  Soldado  is  not  wholly 
free  from  fear  of  this  great-thewed  Serior 
Apache ;  the  soldiers'  wives,  the  squaws,  the  chil 
dren,  all  wend  their  ways  across  the  plaza.  Here 
advances  Brother  Juan,  barefooted,  in  a  gown 
of  serge,  with  his  knotted  scourge  a-dangle  from 
his  girdle;  he  accosts  the  Indian,  he  draws  him 
on  to  talk  of  Manitou,  his  grave  pale  face  grows 
intense  and  his  forehead  wrinkles  as  he  spurs  his 
brain  on  to  the  devising  of  arguments  that  will 
convince  this  wild  soul  before  him  of  the  fact  of 
the  God  of  Adam,  of  Peter,  and  of  Francis. 
Yonder  is  a  crowd :  alas,  it  is  stout  Brother  An 
tonio,  laying  shrewd  stripes  with  unsparing  arm 
upon  the  back  of  a  young  Indian — so  hard  to 
convince  these  dusky  youths  and  maidens  of  the 
sins  of  flirtation.  Ha !  there  behind  the  church, 
if  you  look,  goes  on  another  flagellation :  Brother 
Francis  has  crept  back  there,  slipped  his  woollen 
gown  from  his  shoulders,  and  fallen  to  with  his 
knotted  scourge  upon  his  own  bare  back,  for  that 
a  quick  vision  did,  by  instigation  of  the  devil, 
cross  his  mind  even  in  the  very  midst  of  vespers 
— a  vision  of  a  certain  senorita  as  his  wife,  of  a 
warm  all-day  sunned  cottage,  of  children  play 
ing,  of  fruits,  of  friends,  of  laughter — "O 


^4  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

blessed  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  fend  off  Satan !"  he 
cries,  and  raises  a  heavier  welt. 

Presently,  as  evening  draws  on,  the  Indians 
hold  meetings,  males  in  one  place,  females  in  an 
other;  reciting  prayers,  singing  canticles.  Finally 
it  is  bed-time;  honest  Brother  Antonio  goes 
round  and  locks  the  unmarried  young  male  In 
dians  into  their  sleeping  apartments  on  one  side, 
the  maidens  on  the  other  side  into  theirs,  casts  a 
glance  mayhap  toward  Mexico,  breathes  a 
prayer,  gets  him  to  his  pallet,  and  the  Plaza  of 
San  Antonio  de  Valero  is  left  in  company  of  the 
still  sentinel,  the  stream  of  the  San  Pedro  purl 
ing  on  one  side,  that  of  the  San  Antonio  whis 
pering  on  the  other,  under  the  quiet  stars,  midst 
of  the  solemn  prairie,  in  whose  long  grass  yonder 
crouches  some  keen-eyed  Apache  bravo,1  who 
has  taken  a  fancy  that  he  will  ride  Don  Ramon's 
charger. 

The  infant  settlement  soon  begins  to  serve  in 
that  capacity  which  gives  it  a  "bad  eminence" 
among  the  other  Texan  settlements  for  the  next 
hundred  years :  to  wit,  as  the  point  to  which,  or 
from  which,  armies  are  retreating  or  advancing, 
or  in  which  armies  are  fighting.  Already,  in 
1719,  before  the  removal  to  the  Military  Plaza, 
the  scenes  of  war  have  been  transacting  them- 

1  Sp.  Yndios  Bravos  :  unconverted  Indians. 


Early  History  75 

selves  in  the  young  San  Antonio  de  Valero.  On 
a  certain  day  in  the  spring  of  that  year,  the  peace 
ful  people  are  astonished  to  behold  all  their  Span 
ish  brethren  who  belong  to  the  settlements  east 
ward  of  theirs,  come  crowding  into  the  town: 
monks,  soldiers,  women,  and  all.  In  the  con 
fusion  they  quickly  learn  that  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  year  before,  France  has  declared  war 
against  Spain;  that  the  Frenchmen  at  Natchi- 
toches,  as  soon  as  they  have  heard  the  news,  have 
rushed  to  arms,  and  led  by  La  Harpe  and  St. 
Denis,  have  advanced  westward,  have  put  to 
flight  all  the  Spanish  of  several  small  settle 
ments;  and  that  these  are  they  who  are  here  now, 
disturbing  the  peaceful  mission  with  unwonted 
sights  and  sounds,  and  stretching  its  slender  hos 
pitalities  to  repletion.  The  French  do  not  at 
tack,  however,  but  return  toward  Natchitoches. 
In  a  short  time  enter  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stage,  that  is  to  say  from  Mexico,  the  Mar 
quis  de  Aguayo,  Governor-General  of  New 
Estremadura  and  the  New  Philippines,  with  five 
hundred  mounted  men.  These  march  through, 
take  with  them  the  Spanish  fugitives,  re-establish 
those  settlements,  and  pursue  the  French  until 
they  hear  that  the  latter  are  in  Natchitoches; 
De  Aguayo  then  returns  to  San  Antonio  and  sets 
on  foot  plans  for  its  permanent  improvement. 


76  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

About  this  time  occurs  a  short  and  spicy  cor 
respondence,  which  for  the  first  time  probably 
announces  the  name  of  the  State  of  Texas,  and 
which  explicitly  broaches  a  dispute  that  is  to  last 
for  many  a  year.  The  Spanish  Viceroy  in  Mex 
ico  appoints  Don  Martin  D'Alarconne  Governor 
of  Texas.  Soon  afterward  La  Harpe  leaves  the 
French  post  of  Natchitoches  and  busies  himself 
in  advancing  the  French  interests  among  the  Nas- 
sonite1  Indians.  In  beginning  this  enterprise  La 
Harpe  sends  "a  polite  message"  to  the  Spanish 
Governor,  who  thereupon  writes: 

MONSIEUR, — I  am  very  sensible  of  the  politeness  that  M. 
de  Bienville  and  yourself  have  had  the  goodness  to  show  to 
me.  The  orders  I  have  received  from  the  King  my  master 
are  to  maintain  a  good  understanding  with  the  French  of 
Louisiana  ;  my  own  inclinations  lead  me  equally  to  afford 
them  all  the  services  that  depend  upon  me.  But  I  am  com 
pelled  to  say  that  your  arrival  at  the  Nassonite  village  sur 
prises  me  much.  Your  Governor  could  not  be  ignorant  that 
the  post  you  occupy  belongs  to  my  government,  and  that  all 
the  lands  west  of  the  Nassonites  depend  upon  New  Mexico. 
I  counsel  you  to  inform  M.  de  Bienville  of  this,  or  you  will 
force  me  to  oblige  you  to  abandon  lands  that  the  French 
have  no  right  to  occupy.  I  have  the  honor,  etc., 

TRINITY  RIVER,  May  ao,  1719.  D'ALARCONNE. 

1  A  tribe,  or  set  of  tribes,  whose  seat  of  government  seems  to 
have  been  a  village  called  Texas,  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Neches 
River. 


Early  History  77 

To  this  La  Harpe  makes  reply : 

MONSIEUR, — The  order  from  his  Catholic  Majesty  to 
maintain  a  good  understanding  with  the  French  of  Louisiana, 
and  the  kind  intentions  you  have  yourself  expressed  toward 
them,  accord  but  little  with  your  proceedings.  Permit  me  to 
apprise  you  that  M.  de  Bienville  is  perfectly  informed  of  the 
limits  of  his  government,  and  is  very  certain  that  the  post  of 
Nassonite  does  not  depend  upon  the  dominions  of  his  Cath 
olic  Majesty.  He  knows  also  that  the  Province  of  Lastekas,1 
of  which  you  say  you  are  Governor,  is  a  part  of  Louisiana. 
M.  de  la  Salle  took  possession  in  1685,  in  the  name  of  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty,  and  since  the  above  epoch  posses 
sion  has  been  renewed  from  time  to  time.  Respecting  the 
post  of  Nassonite,  I  cannot  comprehend  by  what  right  you 
pretend  that  it  forms  a  part  of  New  Mexico.  I  beg  leave  to 
represent  to  you  that  Don  Antonio  de  Minoir,  who  discov 
ered  New  Mexico  in  1683,  never  penetrated  east  of  that 
province  or  the  Rio  Bravo.  It  was  the  French  who  first 
made  alliance  with  the  savage  tribes  in  this  region,  and  it  is 
natural  to  conclude  that  a  river  that  flows  into  the  Mississippi 
and  the  lands  it  waters  belong  to  the  King  my  master.  If 
you  will  do  me  the  pleasure  to  come  into  this  quarter  I  will 
convince  you  I  hold  a  post  I  know  how  to  defend. 
I  have  the  honor,  etc., 

NASSONITE,  July  8,  1719.  DE    LA    HARPE. 

1  Lastekas,  i.e.,  Las  Tekas  :  Texas.  The  Frenchmen  in  those 
days  appear  to  have  had  great  difficulty  in  inventing  the  spelling 
for  these  Indian  names.  The  Choctaws,  for  instance,  appear  in 
the  documents  of  the  time  as  "Tchactas,"  the  Chickasaws  as 
"  Chicachats,"  the  Cherokees  as  "  Cheraquis,"  and  they  can  get 
no  nearer  to  "  Camanches  "  than  "  Choumans,"  or  "  Cannensis. " 


78  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

For  several  years  after  the  permanent  location 
round  the  Military  Plaza,  no  important  events 
seem  to  be  recorded  as  happening  in  San  An 
tonio;  but  the  quiet  work  of  post  and  mission 
goes  on,  and  the  probable  talk  on  the  Plaza  is 
of  the  three  new  missions  which  De  Aguayo  es 
tablishes  on  the  San  Antonio  River,  below  the 
town,  under  the  protection  of  its  garrison;  or  of 
the  tales  which  come  slowly  floating  from  the 
northward  concerning  the  dreadful  fate  of  a 
Spanish  expedition  which  has  been  sent  to  attack 
the  French  settlements  on  the  Upper  Mississippi, 
and  which,  mistaking  the  hostile  Missouris  on 
the  way  for  friendly  Osages,  distributes  fifteen 
hundred  muskets,  together  with  sabres  and 
pistols,  to  the  said  Missouris  to  be  used  against 
the  French,  whereupon  the  Missouris  next  morn 
ing  at  daybreak  fall  upon  the  unsuspecting 
Spaniards,  butcher  them  all  (save  the  priest, 
whom  they  keep  for  a  "magpie,"  as  they  call 
him,  to  laugh  at),  and  march  off  into  the  French 
fort  arrayed  in  great  spoils ;  or  of  Governor  De 
Aguayo's  recommendation  to  the  home  govern 
ment  to  send  colonists  instead  of  soldiers  if  it 
would  help  the  friars  to  win  the  Indians;  or  of 
the  appointment  of  a  separate  Governor  for 
Texas  in  1727 ;  or  of  the  withdrawal  of  ten  sol 
diers  in  1729,  leaving  only  forty-three  in  garri- 


Early  History  79 

son  at  San  Antonio.  About  1731,  however,  an 
important  addition  is  made  to  the  town.  Under 
the  auspices  of  the  home  government — which 
seems  to  have  accepted  De  Aguayo's  ideas — thir 
teen  families  and  two  single  men  arrive,  pure 
Spaniards  from  the  Canary  Islands,  also  some 
Mexicans.  These  set  to  work  around  a  Plaza 
(the  "Plaza  of  the  Constitution,"  or  "Main 
Plaza")  just  eastward  of  and  adjoining  the  Mili 
tary  Plaza,  and  commence  a  town  which  they 
call  San  Fernando.  They  are  led,  it  seems,  to 
this  location  by  the  same  facility  of  irrigation 
which  had  recommended  the  Military  Plaza  to 
their  neighbors.  The  new  colonists  impart  vigor 
to  affairs.  The  missions  prosper,  Indians  are 
captured  and  brought  in  to  be  civilized,  whether 
or  no,  and  on  the  5th  of  March,  1731,  the  foun 
dation  is  laid  of  a  mission,  on  the  San  Antonio 
River,  a  mile  or  so  below  the  town. 

Meantime  a  serious  conspiracy  against  the  wel 
fare  of  San  Antonio  and  San  Fernando  is  hatched 
in  the  northeast.  The  Natchez  Indians  wish  to 
revenge  themselves  upon  the  French,  who  have 
driven  them  from  their  home  on  the  Mississippi. 
They  resolve  to  attack  St.  Denis  at  Natchitoches, 
and  to  prevent  the  Spaniards  from  helping  him 
(the  French  and  Spanish  are  now  friends,  hav 
ing  united  against  England)  they  procure  the 


8o  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

Apaches  to  assail  San  Antonio.  St.  Denis,  how 
ever,  surprises  and  defeats  the  Natchez;  and  the 
Apaches  appear  to  have  made  no  organized  at 
tack,  but  to  have  confined  themselves  to  murder 
ing  and  thieving  in  parties.  These  Apaches,  in 
deed,  were  dreadful  scourges  in  these  days  to 
San  Antonio  and  its  environs.  The  people  of  the 
fort  of  San  Fernando  and  of  the  missions  on  the 
river  complain  repeatedly  that  they  cannot  ex 
pand  on  account  of  the  frequent  hostilities  of  the 
Apaches.  This  great  tribe  had  headquarters 
about  the  Pass  of  Bandera,  some  fifty  miles  to 
the  northwestward,  from  which  they  forayed, 
not  only  up  to  Antonio,  but  farther.  Moreover, 
they  manage  horses,  firearms,  and  arrows  "with 
much  destruction  and  agility."  Finally  the  men 
of  San  Antonio  and  San  Fernando  get  tired  of 
it,  and  after  some  minor  counter-forays,  they  or 
ganize  an  expedition  in  1732  which  conquers 
comparative  peace  from  the  Apaches  for  a  few 
years. 

Nothing  of  special  interest  is  recorded  as  hap 
pening  in  San  Antonio  from  this  time  until  1736. 
In  September  of  that  year  arrives  Don  Carlos  de 
Franquis,  who  immediately  proceeds  to  throw 
the  town  into  a  very  pretty  ferment.  Franquis 
had  come  out  from  Spain  to  Mexico  to  be  Gov 
ernor  of  one  province.  On  arriving,  he  finds 


Early  History  81 

that  someone  else  is  already  Governor  of  that 
district.  Vizarron,  Archbishop  of  Mexico,  and 
acting  Viceroy,  disposes  of  him — it  is  likely  he 
made  trouble  enough  till  that  was  done — by 
sending  him  off  to  Texas  to  supersede  Governor 
Sandoval,  a  fine  old  veteran,  who  has  been  for 
two  years  governing  the  province  with  such  sol 
dierly  fidelity  as  has  won  him  great  favor  among 
the  inhabitants.  Franquis  begins  by  insult 
ing  the  priests,  and  follows  this  up  with  breaking 
open  people's  letters.  Presently  he  arrests  San 
doval,  has  him  chained,  and  causes  criminal  pro 
ceedings  to  be  commenced  against  him,  charging 
him  with  treacherous  complicity  in  certain  move 
ments  of  St.  Denis  at  Natchitoches.  It  seems 
that  St.  Denis,  having  found  a  higher  and  drier 
location,  has  removed  his  garrison  and  the 
French  Mission  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  some 
miles  further  from  Red  River  toward  the  Texas 
territory,  and  built  a  new  fort  and  settlements; 
that  Sandoval,  hearing  of  it,  has  promptly  called 
him  to  account  as  an  intruder  on  Spanish  ground; 
and  that  a  correspondence  has  ensued  between 
St.  Denis  and  Sandoval,  urging  the  rights  of  their 
respective  governments.  This  has  just  been 
brought  to  an  issue  to  go  to  the  jury  of  war  when 
Sandoval  is  ousted  by  Franquis.  The  Viceroy 
sends  the  Governor  of  New  Leon  to  investigate 


82  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

the  trouble;  and  the  famous  lawsuit  of  Franquis 
versus  Sandoval  is  fairly  commenced.  The  Gov 
ernor  of  New  Leon  seems  to  find  against  Fran 
quis,  who  is  sent  back  to  the  fort  on  the  Rio 
Grande.  He  gets  away,  however,  and  off  to  the 
Viceroy.  But  Sandoval  is  not  satisfied,  naturally, 
for  he  has  been  mulcted  in  some  three  thousand 
four  hundred  dollars,  costs  of  the  investigating 
commission.  He  pays,  and  in  1738  files  his  pe 
tition  against  Franquis  for  redress  of  his  injuries. 
Franquis,  thus  attacked  in  turn,  strengthens  his 
position  with  a  new  line  of  accusations.  He  now, 
besides  the  French  business,  charges  Sandoval 
with  living  at  San  Antonio  instead  of  at  Adaes, 
the  official  residence;  with  being  irregular  in  his 
accounts  wth  the  San  Antonio  garrison ;  and  with 
peculation  in  the  matter  of  the  salaries  of  certain 
paid  missionaries,  whom  Sandoval  is  alleged  to 
have  discharged  and  then  pocketed  their  stipends. 
The  papers  go  to  the  Viceroy,  and  from  the 
Viceroy  to  Attorney-General  Vedoya.  In  1740 
Vedoya  decides  Sandoval  guilty  of  living  at  San 
Antonio,  though  it  was  his  duty  to  be  there  to 
defend  it  against  the  Apaches;  guilty  of  irregu 
lar  book-keeping,  though  through  memoranda  it 
is  found  that  there  is  a  balance  in  his  favor  of 
thirteen  hundred  dollars;  not  guilty  of  stealing 
the  missionary  money.  Upon  the  French  matter 


Early  History  83 

Vedoya  will  not  decide  without  further  evidence. 
With  poor  Sandoval  it  is  pay  again;  he  is  fined 
five  hundred  dollars  for  his  "guilt." 

Meantime,  some  months  afterward,  an  order 
is  made  that  testimony  be  taken  in  Texas  with 
regard  to  the  French  affair,  to  embrace  an  ac 
count  of  pretty  much  everything  in,  about,  and 
concerning  Texas.  The  testimony  being  taken 
and  returned,  the  Attorney-General,  in  Novem 
ber,  1741,  entirely  acquits  Sandoval.  But  alas 
for  the  stout  old  soldier !  this  is  in  Mexico,  where 
from  of  old,  if  one  is  asked  who  rules  now,  one 
must  reply  with  the  circumspection  of  that  Geor 
gia  judge,  who,  being  asked  the  politics  of  his 
son,  made  answer  that  he  knew  not,  not  having 
seen  the  creature  since  breakfast.  Vizarron  has 
gone  out ;  a  Spanish  duke  has  come  into  the  Vice- 
royalty;  and  Sandoval  has  hardly  had  time  to 
taste  his  hard-earned  triumph  before,  through 
the  cunning  of  Franquis,  he  finds  himself  in 
prison  by  order  of  the  new  Viceroy.  Finally, 
however,  the  rule  works  the  other  way;  in  De 
cember,  1743,  a  third  Viceroy  gets  hold  of  the 
papers  in  the  case,  acquits  Sandoval,  and  enjoins 
Franquis  from  proceeding  further  in  the  matter. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  this  litigation — a  copy 
of  the  proceedings  in  which,  "filling  thirty  vol 
umes  of  manuscript,"  was  transmitted  to  Spain — 


84  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

that  the  old  document  before  referred  to  had  its 
origin.  In  this  paper  San  Antonio  is  called  San 
Antonio  de  Ve]ar  6  Valero,  Vejar  being  the 
Spanish  of  the  Mexican  Bexar  (pronounced 
Vay-har) .  This  name,  San  Antonio  de  Bexar, 
seems  to  have  attached  itself  particularly  to  the 
military  post,  or  fort;  its  origin  is  not  known. 
The  town  of  San  Fernando  was  still  so  called  at 
this  time;  and  the  town  and  mission  of  San  An 
tonio  de  Valero  bore  that  name.  In  1744  this 
latter  extended  itself  to  the  eastward,  or  rather 
the  extension  had  probably  gone  on  before  that 
time  and  was  only  so  called  then.  At  any  rate, 
on  the  8th  of  May,  1744,  the  first  stone  of  the 
present  Church  of  the  Alamo  was  laid  and 
blessed.  The  site  of  this  church  is  nearly  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  to  the  eastward  of  the  Military 
Plaza,  where  the  mission  to  which  it  belonged 
had  been  located  in  1722.  From  an  old  record- 
book  purporting  to  contain  the  baptisms  in  "the 
Parish  of  the  Pueblo  of  San  Jose  del  Alamo," 
it  would  seem  that  there  must  have  been  also  a 
settlement  of  that  name.  San  Antonio  de  Bexar, 
therefore — the  modern  city — seems  to  be  a  con 
solidation  of  the  fort  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar, 
the  mission  and  villa  of  San  Antonio  de  Valero, 
and  the  villas  of  San  Fernando  and  San  Jose  del 
Alamo. 


II 
THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  ALAMO 

EARLY  on  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  Decem 
ber,  1835,  General  Cos  sends  a  flag  of  truce,  ask 
ing  to  surrender,  and  on  the  loth  agrees  with  the 
American  general  upon  formal  and  honorable 
articles  of  capitulation. 

The  poor  citizens  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar,1 
however,  do  not  yet  enjoy  the  blessings  of  life 
in  quiet;  these  wild  soldiers  who  have  stormed 
the  town  cannot  remain  long  without  excitement. 
Presently  Dr.  Grant  revives  his  old  project  of 
taking  Matamoros  and  soon  departs,  carrying 
with  him  most  of  the  troops  that  had  been  left 

1  The  history  of  San  Antonio  from  the  founding  of  the  Alamo 
in  1744  to  its  capture  by  the  "Americans  "a  century  later,  is  a 
complication  of  the  woes  of  border  warfare,  skirmishes  between 
Spaniards  and  Mexicans,  Texans,  Indians,  French,  and  "  United 
States  people. "  The  principal  events  of  this  period  are  the  ar 
rival  in  Texas  of  Moses  Austin  and  General  Houston,  the  pur 
chase  of  Louisiana  from  France  by  the  United  States,  and  the 
capture  of  San  Antonio  from  the  Spaniards  by  the  Mexican  rebels 
under  Santa  Ana,  who,  in  1833,  had  become  President  of  the 
Republic  of  Mexico. — EDITOR. 

85 


86  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

at  Bexar  for  its  defence,  together  with  a  great 
part  of  the  garrison's  winter  supply  of  clothing, 
ammunition,  and  provisions,  and  in  addition 
"pressing"  such  property  of  the  citizens  as  he 
needs,  insomuch  that  Colonel  Neill,  at  that  time 
in  command  at  Bexar,  writes  to  the  Governor  of 
Texas  that  the  place  is  left  destitute  and  de 
fenceless. 

Soon  afterward  Colonel  Neill  is  ordered  to 
destroy  the  Alamo  walls  and  other  fortifications, 
and  bring  off  the  artillery,  since  no  head  can  be 
made  there  in  the  present  crisis  against  the  en 
emy,  who  is  reported  marching  in  force  upon  San 
Antonio.  Having  no  teams,  Colonel  Neill  is 
unable  to  obey  the  order,  and  presently  retires, 
his  unpaid  men  having  dropped  off  until  but 
eighty  remain,  of  whom  Col.  Wm.  B.  Travis 
assumes  command.  Colonel  Travis  promptly 
calls  for  more  troops,  but  gets  none  as  yet,  for 
the  Governor  and  Council  are  at  deadly  quarrel, 
and  the  soldiers  are  all  pressing  toward  Mata- 
moros.  Travis  has  brought  thirty  men  with  him ; 
about  the  middle  of  February  he  is  joined  by 
Colonel  Bowie  with  thirty  others,  and  these,  with 
the  eighty  already  in  garrison,  constitute  the 
defenders  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar. 

On  the  23d  of  February  appears  General  Santa 
Ana  at  the  head  of  a  well-appointed  army  of 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Alamo          87 

some  four  thousand  men,  and  marches  straight 
on  into  town.  The  Texans  retire  before  him 
slowly,  and  finally  shut  themselves  up  in  the 
Alamo;  here  straightway  begins  that  bloodiest, 
smokiest,  grimiest  tragedy  of  this  century.  Will 
iam  B.  Travis,  James  Bowie,  and  David  Crock 
ett,  with  their  hundred  and  forty-five  effective 
men,  are  enclosed  within  a  stone  rectangle  one 
hundred  and  ninety  feet  long  and  one  hundred 
and  twenty-two  feet  wide,  having  the  old  Church 
of  the  Alamo  in  the  southeast  corner,  in  which 
are  their  quarters  and  magazine.  They  have  a 
supply  of  water  from  the  ditches  that  run  along 
side  the  walls,  and  by  way  of  provision  they  have 
about  ninety  bushels  of  corn  and  thirty  beef- 
cattle,  their  entire  stock,  all  collected  since  the 
enemy  came  in  sight.  The  walls  are  unbroken, 
with  no  angles  from  which  to  command  besieg 
ing  lines.  They  have  fourteen  pieces  of  artillery 
mounted,  with  but  little  ammunition. 

Santa  Ana  demands  unconditional  surrender. 
Travis  replies  with  a  cannon-shot,  and  the  attack 
commences,  the  enemy  running  up  a  blood-red 
flag  in  town.  Travis  despatches  a  messenger  with 
a  call  to  his  countrymen  for  re-enforcements, 
which  concludes :  "Though  this  call  may  be  neg 
lected,  I  am  determined  to  sustain  myself  as  long 
as  possible,  and  die  like  a  soldier  who  never  for- 


88  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

gets  what  is  due  to  his  own  honor  and  that  of  his 
country.    Victory  or  death  !" 

Meantime  the  enemy  is  active.  On  the  25th 
Travis  has  a  sharp  fight  to  prevent  him  from 
erecting  a  battery  raking  the  gate  of  the  Alamo. 
At  night  it  is  erected,  with  another  a  half-mile 
off  at  the  powder-house,  on  a  sharp  eminence  at 
the  extremity  of  the  present  main  street  of  the 
town.  On  the  26th  there  is  skirmishing  with  the 
Mexican  cavalry.  In  the  cold — for  a  norther  has 
commenced  to  blow  and  the  thermometer  is  down 
to  thirty-nine — the  Texans  make  a  sally  success 
fully  for  wood  and  water,  and  that  night  they 
burn  some  old  houses  on  the  northeast  that  might 
afford  cover  for  the  enemy.  So,  amid  the  ene 
my's  constant  rain  of  shells  and  balls,  which 
miraculously  hurt  no  one,  the  Texans  strengthen 
their  works  and  the  siege  goes  on.  On  the  28th 
Fannin  starts  from  Goliad  with  three  hundred 
troops  and  four  pieces  of  artillery,  but  for  lack 
of  teams  and  provisions  quickly  returns,  and  the 
little  garrison  is  left  to  its  fate.  On  the  morning 
of  the  ist  of  March  there  is  doubtless  a  wild 
shout  of  welcome  in  the  Alamo;  Capt.  John  W. 
Smith  has  managed  to  convey  thirty-two  men  into 
the  fort.  These  join  the  heroes,  and  the  attack 
and  defence  go  on.  On  the  3d  a  single  man, 
Moses  Rose,  escapes  from  the  fort.  His  account 


The  Tragedy  of  the  Alamo          89 

of  that  day1  must  entitle  it  to  consecration  as  one 
of  the  most  pathetic  days  of  time. 

"About  two  hours  before  sunset  on  the  3d  of 
March,  1 836,  the  bombardment  suddenly  ceased, 
and  the  enemy  withdrew  an  unusual  distance.  .  .  . 
;Colonel  Travis  paraded  all  his  effective  men  in 
a  single  file,  and  taking  his  position  in  front  of  the 
centre,  he  stood  for  some  moments  apparently 
speechless  from  emotion;  then,  nerving  himself 
for  the  occasion,  he  addressed  them  substantially 
as  follows: 

'  'My  brave  companions:  stern  necessity  com 
pels  me  to  employ  the  few  moments  afforded  by 
this  probably  brief  cessation  of  conflict,  in  making 
known  to  you  the  most  interesting,  yet  the  most 
solemn,  melancholy,  and  unwelcome  fact  that  hu 
manity  can  realize.  .  .  .  Our  fate  is  sealed. 
Within  a  very  few  days,  perhaps  a  very  few 
hours,  we  must  all  be  in  eternity!  I  have  de 
ceived  you  long  by  the  promise  of  help;  but  I 
crave  your  pardon,  hoping  that  after  hearing  my 
explanation  you  will  not  only  regard  my  conduct 

1  As  transmitted  by  the  Zuber  family,  whose  residence  was  the 
first  place  at  which  poor  Rose  had  dared  to  stop,  and  with  whom 
he  remained  some  weeks,  healing  the  festered  wounds  made  on 
his  legs  by  the  cactus-thorns  during  the  days  of  his  fearful  jour 
ney.  The  account  from  which  these  extracts  are  taken  is  con 
tributed  to  the  Texas  Almanac  for  1873,  by  W.  P.  Zuber,  and  his 
mother,  Mary  Ann  Zuber. 


90  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

as  pardonable,  but  heartily  sympathize  with  me 
in  my  extreme  necessity.  ...  I  have  continually 
received  the  strongest  assurances  of  help  from 
home.  Every  letter  from  the  Council,  and  every 
one  that  I  have  seen  from  individuals  at  home, 
has  teemed  with  assurances  that  our  people  were 
ready,  willing,  and  anxious  to  come  to  our 
relief.  .  .  .  These  assurances  I  received  as 
facts.  ...  In  the  honest  and  simple  confidence 
of  my  heart  I  have  transmitted  to  you  these  prom 
ises  of  help  and  my  confident  hope  of  success. 
But  the  promised  help  has  not  come,  and  our 
hopes  are  not  to  be  realized.  I  have  evidently 
confided  too  much  in  the  promises  of  our  friends; 
but  let  us  not  be  in  haste  to  censure  them.  .  .  . 
Our  friends  were  evidently  not  informed  of  our 
perilous  condition  in  time  to  save  us.  Doubtless 
they  would  have  been  here  by  this  time  had  they 
expected  any  considerable  force  of  the  en 
emy.  .  .  .  My  calls  on  Colonel  Fannin  remain 
unanswered,  and  my  messengers  have  not  re 
turned.  The  probabilities  are  that  his  whole 
command  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy, 
or  been  cut  to  pieces,  and  that  our  couriers  have 
been  cut  off.  [So  does  the  brave,  simple  soul 
refuse  to  feel  any  bitterness  in  the  hour  of 
death.]  .  .  .  Then  we  must  die.  .  .  .  Our 
business  is  not  to  make  a  fruitless  effort  to  save 


The  Tragedy  of  the  Alamo  91 

our  lives,  but  to  choose  the  manner  of  our  death. 
But  three  modes  are  presented  to  us ;  let  us  choose 
that  by  which  we  may  best  serve  our  country. 
Shall  we  surrender  and  be  deliberately  shot  with 
out  taking  the  life  of  a  single  enemy?  Shall  we 
try  to  cut  our  way  out  through  the  Mexican  ranks 
and  be  butchered  before  we  can  kill  twenty  of  our 
adversaries  ?  I  am  opposed  to  either  method.  .  .  . 
Let  us  resolve  to  withstand  our  adversaries  to  the 
last,  and  at  each  advance  to  kill  as  many  of  them 
as  possible.  And  when  at  last  they  shall  storm 
our  fortress,  let  us  kill  them  as  they  come!  kill 
them  as  they  scale  our  wall !  kill  them  as  they  leap 
within  !  kill  them  as  they  raise  their  weapons  and 
as  they  use  them !  kill  them  as  they  kill  our  com 
panions  !  and  continue  to  kill  them  as  long  as  one 
of  us  shall  remain  alive  I  .  .  .  But  I  leave  every 
man  to  his  own  choice.  Should  any  man  prefer 
to  surrender  ...  or  to  attempt  an  escape  .  .  . 
he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so.  My  own  choice  is  to 
stay  in  the  fort  and  die  for  my  country,  fighting 
as  long  as  breath  shall  remain  in  my  body.  This 
will  I  do,  even  if  you  leave  me  alone.  Do  as 
you  think  best ;  but  no  man  can  die  with  me  with 
out  affording  me  comfort  in  the  hour  of  death!' 
"Colonel  Travis  then  drew  his  sword,  and 
with  its  point  traced  a  line  upon  the  ground  ex 
tending  from  the  right  to  the  left  of  the  file. 


92  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

Then,  resuming  his  position  in  front  of  the  cen 
tre,  he  said,  'I  now  want  every  man  who  is  de 
termined  to  stay  here  and  die  with  me  to  come 
across  this  line.  Who  will  be  first?  March!' 
The  first  respondent  was  Tapley  Holland,  who 
leaped  the  line  at  a  bound,  exclaiming,  'I  am 
ready  to  die  for  my  country  !'  His  example  was 
instantly  followed  by  every  man  in  the  file  with 
the  exception  of  Rose.  .  .  .  Every  sick  man  that 
could  walk,  arose  from  his  bunk  and  tottered 
across  the  line.  Colonel  Bowie,  who  could  not 
leave  his  bed,  said,  'Boys,  I  am  not  able  to  come 
to  you,  but  I  wish  some  of  you  would  be  so  kind 
as  to  remove  my  cot  over  there.'  Four  men  in 
stantly  ran  to  the  cot,  and  each  lifting  a  corner, 
carried  it  across  the  line.  Then  every  sick  man 
that  could  not  walk  made  the  same  request,  and 
had  his  bunk  removed  in  the  same  way. 

"Rose,  too,  was  deeply  affected,  but  differently 
from  his  companions.  He  stood  till  every  man 
but  himself  had  crossed  the  line.  .  .  .  He  sank 
upon  the  ground,  covered  his  face,  and  yielded 
to  his  own  reflections.  ...  A  bright  idea  came 
to  his  relief;  he  spoke  the  Mexican  dialect  very 
fluently,  and  could  he  once  get  safely  out  of  the 
fort,  he  might  easily  pass  for  a  Mexican  and 
effect  an  escape.  .  .  .  He  directed  a  searching 
glance  at  the  cot  of  Colonel  Bowie.  .  .  .  Col. 


The    Tragedy  of  the  Alamo          93 

David  Crockett  was  leaning  over  the  cot,  con 
versing  with  its  occupant  in  an  undertone.  After 
a  few  seconds  Bowie  looked  at  Rose  and  said, 
'You  seem  not  to  be  willing  to  die  with  us,  Rose.' 
'No,'  said  Rose;  'I  am  not  prepared  to  die,  and 
shall  not  do  so  if  I  can  avoid  it.'  Then  Crockett 
also  looked  at  him,  and  said,  'You  may  as  well 
conclude  to  die  with  us,  old  man,  for  escape  is 
impossible.'  Rose  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at 
the  top  of  the  wall.  'I  have  often  done  worse 
than  to  climb  that  wall,'  thought  he.  Suiting  the 
action  to  the  thought,  he  sprang  up,  seized  his 
wallet  of  unwashed  clothes,  and  ascended  the 
wall.  Standing  on  its  top,  he  looked  down  within 
to  take  a  last  view  of  his  dying  friends.  They 
were  all  now  in  motion,  but  what  they  were  doing 
he  heeded  not;  overpowered  by  his  feelings,  he 
looked  away  and  saw  them  no  more.  .  .  .  He 
threw  down  his  wallet  and  leaped  after  it.  ... 
He  took  the  road  which  led  down  the  river 
around  a  bend  to  the  ford,  and  through  the  town 
by  the  church.  He  waded  the  river  at  the  ford 
and  passed  through  the  town.  He  saw  no  per 
son  .  .  .  but  the  doors  were  all  closed,  and  San 
Antonio  appeared  as  a  deserted  city. 

"After  passing  through  the  town  he  turned 
down  the  river.  A  stillness  as  of  death  prevailed. 
When  he  had  gone  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  be- 


94  San  Antonib  de  Bexar 

low  the  town,  his  ears  were  saluted  by  the  thunder 
of  the  bombardment,  which  was  then  renewed. 
That  thunder  continued  to  remind  him  that  his 
friends  were  true  to  their  cause,  by  a  continual 
roar  with  but  slight  intervals  until  a  little  before 
sunrise  on  the  morning  of  the  6th,  when  it  ceased 
and  he  heard  it  no  more."  * 

And  well  may  it  "cease"  on  that  morning  of 
that  6th;  for  after  that  thrilling  3d  the  siege 
goes  on,  the  enemy  furious,  the  Texans  replying 
calmly  and  slowly.  Finally  Santa  Ana  deter 
mines  to  storm.  Some  hours  before  daylight  on 
the  morning  of  the  6th  the  Mexican  infantry, 
provided  with  scaling-ladders,  and  backed  by  the 
cavalry  to  keep  them  up  to  the  work,  surround 
the  doomed  fort.  At  daylight  they  advance  and 
plant  their  ladders,  but  give  back  under  a  deadly 
fire  from  the  Texans.  They  advance  again,  and 
again  retreat.  A  third  time — Santa  Ana  threat 
ening  and  coaxing  by  turns — they  plant  their  lad 
ders.  Now  they  mount  the  walls.  The  Texans 
are  overwhelmed  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers 
and  exhaustion  of  continued  watching  and  fight- 

1  Rose  succeeded  in  making  his  escape,  and  reached  the  house 
of  the  Zubers,  as  before  stated,  in  fearful  condition.  After  re 
maining  here  some  weeks,  he  started  for  his  home  in  Nacogdoches, 
but  on  the  way  his  thorn-wounds  became  inflamed  anew,  and  when 
he  reached  home  "  his  friends  thought  that  he  could  not  live  many 
months."  This  was  "  the  last  "  that  the  Zubers  "  heard  of  him." 


THE    STORMING    OF    THE    ALAMO 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Alamo          95 

ing.  The  Mexicans  swarm  into  the  fort.  The 
Texans  club  their  guns;  one  by  one  they  fall 
fighting — now  Travis  yonder  by  the  western 
wall,  now  Crockett  here  in  the  angle  of  the 
church-wall,  now  Bowie  butchered  and  mutilated 
in  his  sick-cot,  breathe  quick  and  pass  away;  and 
presently  every  Texan  lies  dead,  while  there  in 
horrid  heaps  are  stretched  five  hundred  and 
twenty-one  dead  Mexicans  and  as  many  more 
wounded !  Of  the  human  beings  that  were  in  the 
fort  five  remain  alive :  Mrs.  Dickinson  and  her 
child,  Colonel  Travis's  negro-servant,  and  two 
Mexican  women.  The  conquerors  endeavor  to 
get  some  more  revenge  out  of  the  dead,  and  close 
the  scene  with  raking  together  the  bodies  of  the 
Texans,  amid  insults,  and  burning  them. 

The  town  did  not  long  remain  in  the  hands  of 
the  Mexicans.  Events  followed  each  other  rap 
idly  until  the  battle  of  San  Jacinto,  after  which 
the  dejected  Santa  Ana  wrote  his  famous  letter 
of  captivity  under  the  tree,  which  for  a  time  re 
lieved  the  soil  of  Texas  from  hostile  footsteps. 
San  Antonio  was  nevertheless  not  free  from 
bloodshed,  though  beginning  to  drive  a  sharp 
trade  with  Mexico  and  to  make  those  approaches 
toward  the  peaceful  arts  which  necessarily  ac 
company  trade.  The  Indians  kept  life  from 
stagnating,  and  in  the  year  1840  occurred  a 


96  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 

bloody  battle  with  them  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
town.  Certain  Camanche  chiefs,  pending  nego 
tiations  for  a  treaty  of  peace,  had  promised  to 
bring  in  all  the  captives  they  had,  and  on  the  I9th 
of  March,  1840,  met  the  Texan  Commissioners 
in  the  Council-house  in  San  Antonio  to  redeem 
their  promise.  Leaving  twenty  warriors  and 
thirty-two  women  and  children  outside,  twelve 
chiefs  entered  the  council-room  and  presented  the 
only  captive  they  had  brought — a  little  white 
girl — declaring  that  they  had  no  others. 

This  statement  the  little  girl  pronounced  false, 
asserting  that  it  was  made  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  extorting  greater  ransoms,  and  that  she  had 
but  recently  seen  other  captives  in  their  camp. 
An  awkward  pause  followed.  Presently  one  of 
the  chiefs  inquired,  How  the  Commissioners 
liked  it.  By  way  of  reply,  the  company  of  Cap 
tain  Howard,  who  had  been  sent  for,  filed  into 
the  room,  and  the  Indians  were  told  that  they 
would  be  held  prisoners  until  they  should  send 
some  of  their  party  outside  after  the  rest  of  the 
captives.  The  Commissioners  then  rose  and  left 
the  room. 

As  they  were  in  the  act  of  leaving,  however, 
one  of  the  Indian  chiefs  attempted  to  rush 
through  the  door,  and  being  confronted  by  the 
sentinel,  stabbed  him.  Seeing  the  sentinel  hurt, 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Alamo          97 

and  Captain  Howard  also  stabbed,  the  other 
chiefs  sprang  forward  with  knives  and  bows  and 
arrows,  and  the  fight  raged  until  they  were  all 
killed.  Meantime  the  warriors  outside  began  to 
fight,  and  engaged  the  company  of  Captain 
Read;  but,  taking  shelter  in  a  stone-house,  were 
surrounded  and  killed.  Still  another  detachment 
of  the  Indians  managed  to  continue  the  fight  until 
they  had  reached  the  other  side  of  the  river,  when 
they  were  finally  despatched.  Thirty-two  Indian 
warriors  and  five  Indian  women  and  children 
were  slain,  and  the  rest  of  the  women  and  chil 
dren  were  made  prisoners.  The  savages  fought 
desperately,  for  seven  Texans  were  killed  and 
eight  wounded.1 

'The  war  between  Texas  and  Mexico  ended  in  1842,  and  three 
years  later  the  annexation  of  Texas  to  the  United  States  took 
place. — EDITOR. 


VI 

FROM    MORN    TILL    NIGHT    ON    A 
FLORIDA    RIVER 


FROM    MORN    TILL    NIGHT    ON    A 
FLORIDA    RIVER 

FOR  a  perfect  journey  God  gave  us  a  perfect 
day.  The  little  Ocklawaha  (ock  la  wa'  ha) 
steamboat  Marion  had  started  on  her  voyage 
some  hours  before  daylight.  She  had  taken  on 
her  passengers  the  night  previous.  By  seven 
o'clock  on  such  a  May  morning  as  no  words  could 
describe  we  had  made  twenty-five  miles  up  the 
St.  Johns.  At  this  point  the  Ocklawaha  flows 
into  the  St.  Johns,  one  hundred  miles  above 
Jacksonville. 

Presently  we  abandoned  the  broad  highway  of 
the  St.  Johns,  and  turned  off  to  the  right  into  the 
narrow  lane  of  the  Ocklawaha.  This  is  the 
sweetest  water-lane  in  the  world,  a  lane  which 
runs  for  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
of  pure  delight  betwixt  hedge-rows  of  oaks  and 
cypresses  and  palms  and  magnolias  and  mosses 
and  vines;  a  lane  clean  to  travel,  for  there  is 
never  a  speck  of  dust  in  it  save  the  blue  dust  and 
gold  dust  which  the  wind  blows  out  of  the  flags 
and  lilies. 

As  we  advanced  up  the  stream  our  wee  craft 


IO2  From  Morn  Till  Night 

seemed  to  emit  her  steam  in  leisurely  whiffs,  as 
one  puffs  one's  cigar  in  a  contemplative  walk 
through  the  forest.  Dick,  the  pole-man,  lay 
asleep  on  the  guards,  in  great  peril  of  rolling  into 
the  river  over  the  three  inches  between  his  length 
and  the  edge ;  the  people  of  the  boat  moved  not, 
and  spoke  not;  the  white  crane,  the  curlew,  the 
heron,  the  water-turkey,  were  scarcely  disturbed 
in  their  quiet  avocations  as  we  passed,  and  quickly 
succeeded  in  persuading  themselves  after  each 
momentary  excitement  of  our  gliding  by,  that  we 
were  really  no  monster,  but  only  some  day-dream 
of  a  monster. 

"Look  at  that  snake  in  the  water!"  said  a 
gentleman,  as  we  sat  on  deck  with  the  engineer, 
just  come  up  from  his  watch. 

The  engineer  smiled.  "Sir,  it  is  a  water- 
turkey,"  he  said,  gently. 

The  water-turkey  is  the  most  preposterous  bird 
within  the  range  of  ornithology.  He  is  not  a 
bird;  he  is  a  neck  with  such  subordinate  rights, 
members,  belongings,  and  heirlooms  as  seem 
necessary  to  that  end.  He  has  just  enough 
stomach  to  arrange  nourishment  for  his  neck,  just 
enough  wings  to  fly  painfully  along  with  his  neck, 
and  just  big  enough  legs  to  keep  his  neck  from 
dragging  on  the  ground;  and  his  neck  is  light- 
colored,  while  the  rest  of  him  is  black.  When 


On  a  Florida  River  103 

he  saw  us  he  jumped  up  on  a  limb  and  stared. 
Then  suddenly  he  dropped  into  the  water,  sank 
like  a  leaden  ball  out  of  sight,  and  made  us  think 
he  was  drowned.  Presently  the  tip  of  his  beak 
appeared,  then  the  length  of  his  neck  lay  along 
the  surface  of  the  water.  In  this  position,  with 
his  body  submerged,  he  shot  out  his  neck,  drew  it 
back,  wriggled  it,  twisted  it,  twiddled  it,  and 
poked  it  spirally  into  the  east,  the  west,  the  north, 
and  the  south,  round  and  round  with  a  violence 
and  energy  that  made  one  think  in  the  same 
breath  of  corkscrews  and  of  lightnings.  But 
what  nonsense  !  All  that  labor  and  perilous  con 
tortion  for  a  beggarly  sprat  or  a  couple  of  inches 
of  water-snake. 

Some  twenty  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Ock- 
lawaha,  at  the  right-hand  edge  of  the  stream, 
is  the  handsomest  residence  in  America.  It  be 
longs  to  a  certain  alligator  of  my  acquaintance, 
a  very  honest  and  worthy  reptile  of  good  repute. 
A  little  cove  of  water,  dark-green  under  the  over 
hanging  leaves,  placid  and  clear,  curves  round  at 
the  river  edge  into  the  flags  and  lilies,  with  a 
curve  just  heart-breaking  for  its  pure  beauty. 
This  house  of  the  alligator  is  divided  into  apart 
ments,  little  bays  which  are  scalloped  out  by  the 
lily-pads,  according  to  the  winding  fancies  of 
their  growth.  My  reptile,  when  he  desires  to 


IO4  From  Morn   Till  Night 

sleep,  has  but  to  lie  down  anywhere;  he  will  find 
marvellous  mosses  for  his  mattress  beneath  him; 
his  sheets  will  be  white  lily-petals;  and  the  green 
disks  of  the  lily-pads  will  straightway  embroider 
themselves  together  above  him  for  his  coverlet. 
He  never  quarrels  with  his  cook,  he  is  not  the 
slave  of  a  kitchen,  and  his  one  house-maid — the 
stream — forever  sweeps  his  chambers  clean.  His 
conservatories  there  under  the  glass  of  that 
water  are  ever,  without  labor,  filled  with  the 
enchantments  of  under-water  growths. 

His  parks  and  his  pleasure-grounds  are  larger 
than  any  king's.  Upon  my  saurian's  house  the 
winds  have  no  power,  the  rains  are  only  a  new 
delight  to  him,  and  the  snows  he  will  never  see. 
Regarding  fire,  as  he  does  not  use  it  as  a  slave, 
so  he  does  not  fear  it  as  a  tyrant. 

Thus  all  the  elements  are  the  friends  of  my 
alligator's  house.  While  he  sleeps  he  is  being 
bathed.  What  glory  to  awake  sweetened  and 
freshened  by  the  sole,  careless  act  of  sleep! 

Lastly,  my  saurian  has  unnumbered  mansions, 
and  can  change  his  dwelling  as  no  human  house 
holder  may ;  it  is  but  a  flip  of  his  tail,  and  lo !  he 
is  established  in  another  place  as  good  as  the 
last,  ready  furnished  to  his  liking. 

On  and  on  up  the  river!  We  find  it  a  river 
without  banks.  The  swift,  deep  current  mean- 


On  a  Florida  River  105 

ders  between  tall  lines  of  trees ;  beyond  these,  on 
either  side,  there  is  water  also — a  thousand  shal 
low  rivulets  lapsing  past  the  bases  of  a  multi 
tude  of  trees. 

Along  the  edges  of  the  stream  every  tree- 
trunk,  sapling,  and  stump  is  wrapped  about  with 
a  close-growing  vine.  The  edges  of  the  stream 
are  also  defined  by  flowers  and  water-leaves. 
The  tall  blue  flags,  the  ineffable  lilies  sitting  on 
their  round  lily-pads  like  white  queens  on  green 
thrones,  the  tiny  stars  and  long  ribbons  of  the 
water-grasses — all  these  border  the  river  in  an 
infinite  variety  of  adornment. 

And  now,  after  this  day  of  glory,  came  a  night 
of  glory.  Deep  down  in  these  shaded  lanes  it 
was  dark  indeed  as  the  night  drew  on.  The 
stream  which  had  been  all  day  a  girdle  of  beauty, 
blue  or  green,  now  became  a  black  band  of 
mystery. 

But  presently  a  brilliant  flame  flares  out  over 
head  :  they  have  lighted  the  pine-knots  on  top  of 
the  pilot-house.  The  fire  advances  up  these  dark 
windings  like  a  brilliant  god. 

The  startled  birds  suddenly  flutter  into  the 
light  and  after  an  instant  of  illuminated  flight 
melt  into  the  darkness.  From  the  perfect  silence 
of  these  short  flights  one  derives  a  certain  sense 
of  awe. 


io6  From  Morn  Till  Night 

Now  there  is  a  mighty  crack  and  crash :  limbs 
and  leaves  scrape  and  scrub  along  the  deck;  a 
little  bell  tinkles;  we  stop.  In  turning  a  short 
curve,  the  boat  has  run  her  nose  smack  into  the 
right  bank,  and  a  projecting  stump  has  thrust 
itself  sheer  through  the  starboard  side.  Out, 
Dick!  Out,  Henry!  Dick  and  Henry  shuffle 
forward  to  the  bow,  thrust  forth  their  long  white 
pole  against  a  tree-trunk,  strain  and  push  and 
bend  to  the  deck  as  if  they  were  salaaming  the 
god  of  night  and  adversity.  Our  bow  slowly 
rounds  into  the  stream,  the  wheel  turns  and  we 
puff  quietly  along. 

And  now  it  is  bed-time.  Let  me  tell  you  how 
to  sleep  on  an  Ocklawaha  steamer  in  May.  With 
a  small  bribe  persuade  Jim,  the  steward,  to  take 
the  mattress  out  of  your  berth  and  lay  it  slanting 
just  along  the  railing  that  encloses  the  lower  part 
of  the  deck  in  front  and  to  the  left  of  the  pilot 
house.  Lie  flat  on  your  back  down  on  the 
mattress,  draw  your  blanket  over  you,  put  your 
cap  on  your  head,  on  account  of  the  night  air, 
fold  your  arms,  say  some  little  prayer  or  other, 
and  fall  asleep  with  a  star  looking  right  down  on 
your  eye.  When  you  wake  in  the  morning  you 
will  feel  as  new  as  Adam. 


VII 

BOB :  THE  STORY  OF  OUR  MOCKING 
BIRD 


BOB:  THE  STORY  OF  OUR  MOCKING 
BIRD 

NOT  that  his  name  ought  to  be  Bob  at  all.  In 
respect  of  his  behavior  during  a  certain  trying 
period  which  I  am  presently  to  recount,  he  ought 
to  be  called  Sir  Philip  Sidney;  yet,  by  virtue  of 
his  conduct  in  another  very  troublesome  business 
which  I  will  relate,  he  has  equal  claim  to  be 
known  as  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha ;  while,  in 
consideration  that  he  is  the  Voice  of  his  whole 
race,  singing  the  passions  of  all  his  fellows  better 
than  anyone  could  sing  his  own,  he  is  clearly 
entitled  to  be  named  William  Shakespeare. 

For  Bob  is  our  mocking-bird.  He  fell  to  us 
out  of  the  top  of  a  certain  great  pine  in  a  certain 
small  city  on  the  sea-coast  of  Georgia.  In  this 
tree  and  a  host  of  his  lordly  fellows  which  tower 
over  that  little  city,  the  mocking-birds  abound  in 
unusual  numbers.  They  love  the  prodigious 
masses  of  the  leaves,  and  the  generous  breezes 
from  the  neighboring  Gulf  Stream,  and,  most  of 
all,  the  infinite  flood  of  the  sunlight,  which  is  so 

rich  and  cordial  that  it  will  make  even  a  man  lift 

109 


no  Bob:  the  Story 

his  head  toward  the  sky,  as  a  mocking-bird  lifts 
his  beak,  and  try  to  sing  something  or  other. 

About  three  years  ago,  in  a  sandy  road  which 
skirts  a  grove  of  such  tall  pines,  a  wayfarer  found 
Bob  lying  in  a  lump.  It  could  not  have  been 
more  than  a  few  days  since  he  was  no  bird  at 
all,  only  an  egg  with  possibilities.  The  finder 
brought  him  to  our  fence  and  turned  him  over  to 
a  young  man  who  had  done  us  the  honor  to  come 
out  of  a  strange  country  and  live  at  our  house 
about  six  years  before.  Gladly  received  by  this 
last,  Bob  was  brought  within,  and  family  dis 
cussions  were  held.  He  could  not  be  put  back 
into  a  tree:  the  hawks  would  have  had  him  in 
an  hour.  The  original  nest  was  not  to  be  found. 
We  struggled  hard  against  committing  the  crime 
— as  we  had  always  considered  it — of  caging  a 
bird.  But  finally  it  became  plain  that  there  was 
no  other  resource.  In  fact,  we  were  obliged  to 
recognize  that  he  had  come  to  us  from  the  hand 
of  Providence;  and,  though  we  are  among  the 
most  steady-going  democrats  of  this  Republic, 
we  were  yet  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  eti 
quette  of  courts  to  know  that  one  does  not  refuse 
the  gift  of  The  King. 

Dimly  hoping,  therefore,  that  we  might  see 
our  way  clear  to  devise  some  means  of  giving 
Bob  an  education  that  would  fit  him  for  a  for- 


BOB    LYING    IN    A    LUMP 


Of  Our  Moc king-Bird  1 1 1 

ester,  we  arranged  suitable  accommodations  for 
him,  and  he  was  tended  with  motherly  care. 

He  repaid  our  attentions  from  the  very  begin 
ning.  He  immediately  began  to  pick  up  in  flesh 
and  to  increase  the  volume  of  his  rudimentary 
feathers.  Soon  he  commenced  to  call  for  his 
food  as  lustily  as  any  spoiled  child.  When  it  was 
brought  he  would  throw  his  head  back  and  open 
his  yellow-lined  beak  to  a  width  which  no  one 
would  credit  who  did  not  see  it.  Into  this  enor 
mous  cavity,  which  seemed  almost  larger  than  the 
bird,  his  protectress  would  thrust — and  the  more 
vigorously  the  better  he  seemed  to  like  it — ball 
after  ball  of  the  yolk  of  hard-boiled  egg  mashed 
up  with  Irish  potato. 

How,  from  this  dry  compound  which  was  his 
only  fare,  except  an  occasional  worm  off  the  rose 
bushes,  Bob  could  have  wrought  the  surprising 
nobleness  of  spirit  which  he  displayed  about  six 
weeks  after  he  came  to  us,  is  a  matter  which  I 
do  not  believe  I  can  account  for.  I  refer  to  the 
occasion  when  he  fairly  earned  the  title  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.  A  short  time  after  he  became 
our  guest  a  couple  of  other  fledglings  were 
brought  and  placed  in  his  cage.  One  of  these 
soon  died,  but  the  other  continued  for  some  time 
longer  to  drag  out  a  drooping  existence.  One 
day,  when  Bob  was  about  six  weeks  old,  his  usual 


ii2  Bob  :  the  Story 

ration  had  been  delayed,  owing  to  the  pressure 
of  other  duties  upon  his  attendant.  He  was  not 
slow  to  make  this  circumstance  known  by  all  the 
language  available  to  him.  He  was  very  hungry 
indeed,  and  was  squealing  with  every  appearance 
of  entreaty  and  of  indignation  when  at  last  the 
lady  of  the  house  was  able  to  bring  him  his  break 
fast.  He  scrambled  to  the  bars  of  the  cage — 
which  his  feeble  companion  was  unable  to  do — 
took  the  proffered  ball  of  egg-and-potato  fiercely 
in  his  beak,  and  then,  instead  of  swallowing  it, 
deliberately  flapped  back  to  his  sick  guest  in  the 
corner  and  gave  him  the  whole  of  it  without 
tasting  a  morsel. 

Now  when  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  being  carried 
off  the  battle-field  of  Zutphen,  with  a  fearful 
wound  in  his  thigh,  he  became  very  thirsty  and 
begged  for  water.  As  the  cup  was  handed  him, 
a  dying  soldier  who  lay  near  cast  upon  it  a  look 
of  great  longing.  This  Sidney  observed;  refus 
ing  the  cup,  he  ordered  that  it  should  be  handed 
to  the  soldier,  saying,  "His  necessity  is  greater 
than  mine." 

A  mocking-bird  is  called  Bob  just  as  a  goat 
is  called  Billy  or  Nan,  as  a  parrot  is  called  Poll, 
as  a  squirrel  is  called  Bunny,  or  as  a  cat  is  called 
Pussy  or  Tom.  In  spite  of  the  suggestions  forced 
upon  us  by  the  similarity  of  his  behavior  to  that 


Of  Our  Moc king-Bird  113 

of  the  sweet  young  gentleman  of  Zutphen,  our 
bird  continued  to  bear  the  common  appellation 
of  his  race,  and  no  efforts  on  the  part  of  those 
who  believe  in  the  fitness  of  things  have  availed 
to  change  the  habits  of  Bob's  friends  in  this  par 
ticular.  Bob  he  was,  is,  and  will  probably  remain. 
Perhaps  under  a  weightier  title  he  would  not 
have  thriven  so  prosperously.  His  growth  was 
amazing  in  body  and  in  mind.  By  the  time  he 
was  two  months  old  he  already  showed  that  he 
was  going  to  be  a  singer.  About  this  period  cer 
tain  little  feeble  trills  and  experimental  whistles 
began  to  vary  the  monotony  of  his  absurd  squeals 
and  chirrups.  The  musical  business  and  the 
marvellous  work  of  feathering  himself  occupied 
his  thoughts  continually.  I  cannot  but  suppose 
that  he  superintended  the  disposition  of  the 
black,  white,  and  gray  markings  on  his  wings 
and  his  tail  as  they  successively  appeared:  he 
certainly  manufactured  the  pigments  with  which 
those  colors  were  laid  on  somewhere  within  him 
self — and  all  out  of  egg-and-potato.  How  he 
ever  got  the  idea  of  arranging  his  feather-char 
acteristics  exactly  as  those  of  all  other  male 
mocking-birds  are  arranged,  is  more  than  I  know. 
It  is  equally  beyond  me  to  conceive  why  he  did 
not — while  he  was  about  it — exert  his  individu 
ality  to  the  extent  of  some  little  peculiar  black 


H4  Bob:  the  Story 

dot  or  white  stripe  whereby  he  could  at  least  tell 
himself  from  any  other  bird.  His  failure  to  at 
tend  to  this  last  matter  was  afterward  the  cause 
of  a  great  battle  from  which  Bob  would  have 
emerged  in  a  plight  as  ludicrous  as  any  of  Don 
Quixote's — considering  the  harmless  and  unsub 
stantial  nature  of  his  antagonist — had  not  this 
view  of  his  behavior  been  changed  by  the  cour 
age  and  spirit  with  which  he  engaged  his  enemy, 
the  gallantry  with  which  he  continued  the  fight, 
and  the  good  faithful  blood  which  he  shed  while 
it  lasted.  In  all  these  particulars  his  battle 
fairly  rivalled  any  encounter  of  the  much-bruised 
Knight  of  La  Mancha. 

He  was  about  a  year  old  when  it  happened, 
and  the  fight  took  place  a  long  way  from  his  na 
tive  heath.  He  was  spending  the  summer  at  a 
pleasant  country  home  in  Pennsylvania.  He  had 
appeared  to  take  just  as  much  delight  in  the 
clover-fields  and  mansion-studded  hills  of  this 
lovely  region  as  in  the  lonesome  forests  and  sandy 
levels  of  his  native  land.  He  had  sung,  and 
sung:  even  in  his  dreams  at  night  his  sensitive 
little  soul  would  often  get  quite  too  full  and  he 
would  pour  forth  rapturous  bursts  of  sentiment 
at  any  time  between  twelve  o'clock  and  daybreak. 
If  our  health  had  been  as  little  troubled  by 
broken  slumber  as  was  his,  these  melodies  in  the 


Of  Our  Mocking-Bird  115 

late  night  would  have  been  glorious;  but  there 
were  some  of  us  who  had  gone  into  the  country 
specially  to  sleep ;  and  we  were  finally  driven  to 
swing  the  sturdy  songster  high  up  in  an  outside 
porch  at  night,  by  an  apparatus  contrived  with 
careful  reference  to  cats.  Several  of  these  ani 
mals  in  the  neighborhood  had  longed  unspeak 
ably  for  Bob  ever  since  his  arrival.  We  had 
seen  them  eying  him  from  behind  bushes  and 
through  windows,  and  had  once  rescued  him 
from  one  who  had  thrust  a  paw  between  the 
very  bars  of  his  cage.  That  cat  was  going  to  eat 
him,  art  and  all,  with  no  compunction  in  the 
world.  His  music  seemed  to  make  no  more  im 
pression  on  cats  than  Keats's  made  on  critics. 
If  only  some  really  discriminating  person  had 
been  by,  with  a  shotgun,  when  The  Quarterly 
thrust  its  paw  into  poor  Endymion's  cage! 

One  day  at  this  country-house  Bob  had  been 
let  out  of  his  cage  and  allowed  to  fly  about  the 
room.  He  had  cut  many  antics,  to  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  company,  when  presently  we  left  him 
to  go  down  to  dinner.  What  occurred  after 
ward  was  very  plainly  told  by  circumstantial  evi 
dence  when  we  returned.  As  soon  as  he  was 
alone,  he  had  availed  himself  of  his  unusual 
freedom  to  go  exploring  about  the  room.  In  the 
course  of  investigation  he  suddenly  found  him- 


n6  Bob:  the  Story 

self  confronted  by — it  is  impossible  to  say  what 
he  considered  it.  If  he  had  been  reared  in  the 
woods  he  would  probably  have  regarded  it  as 
another  mocking-bird — for  it  was  his  own  image 
in  the  looking-glass  of  a  bureau.  But  he  had 
never  seen  any  member  of  his  race,  except  the 
forlorn  little  unfledged  specimen  which  he  had 
fed  at  six  weeks  of  age,  and  which  bore  no 
resemblance  to  this  tall,  gallant,  bright-eyed 
figure  in  the  mirror.  He  had  thus  had  no 
opportunity  to  generalize  his  kind,  and  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  his  own  personal 
appearance  except  the  partial  hints  he  may 
have  gained  when  he  smoothed  his  feathers 
with  his  beak  after  his  bath  in  the  morning. 
It  may  therefore  very  well  be  that  he  took  this 
sudden  apparition  for  some  Chimaera  or  dire 
monster  which  had  taken  advantage  of  the  fam 
ily's  temporary  absence  to  enter  the  room,  with 
evil  purpose.  Bob  immediately  determined  to 
defend  the  premises.  He  flew  at  the  invader, 
literally  beak  and  claw.  But  beak  and  claw  tak 
ing  no  hold  upon  the  smooth  glass,  with  each 
attack  he  slid  struggling  down  to  the  foot  of  the 
mirror.  Now  it  so  happened  that  a  pin-cushion 
lay  at  this  point,  which  bristled  not  only  with 
pins,  but  with  needles  which  had  been  tempo 
rarily  left  in  it,  and  which  were  nearly  as  sharp 


Of  Our  Moc king-Bird  1 1 7 

at  the  eye-ends  as  at  the  points.  Upon  these, 
Bob's  poor  claws  came  down  with  fury :  he  felt 
the  wounds  and  saw  the  blood :  both  he  attributed 
to  the  strokes  of  his  enemy,  and  this  roused  him 
to  new  rage.  In  order  to  give  additional  momen 
tum  to  his  onset  he  would  retire  toward  the  other 
side  of  the  room  and  thence  fly  at  the  foe.  Again 
and  again  he  charged;  and  as  many  times  slid 
down  the  smooth  surface  of  the  mirror  and 
wounded  himself  upon  the  perilous  pin-cushion. 
As  I  entered,  being  the  first  up  from  the  table, 
he  was  in  the  act  of  fluttering  down  against  the 
glass.  The  counterpane  on  the  bed,  the  white 
dimity  cover  of  the  bureau,  the  pin-cushion,  all 
bore  the  bloody  resemblances  of  his  feet  in  vari 
ous  places,  and  showed  how  many  times  he  had 
sought  distant  points  in  order  to  give  himself  a 
running  start.  His  heart  was  beating  violently, 
and  his  feathers  were  ludicrously  tousled.  And 
all  against  the  mere  shadow  of  himself!  Never 
was  there  such  a  temptation  for  the  head  of  a 
family  to  assemble  his  people  and  draw  a  pro 
digious  moral.  But  better  thoughts  came:  for, 
after  all,  was  it  not  probable  that  the  poor  bird 
was  defending — or  at  any  rate  believed  he  was 
defending — the  rights  and  properties  of  his  ab 
sent  masters  against  a  foe  of  unknown  power? 
All  the  circumstances  go  to  show  that  he  made 


Il8  Bob:  the  Story 

the  attack  with  a  faithful  valor  as  reverent  as 
that  which  steadied  the  lance  of  Don  Quixote 
against  the  windmills.  In  after  days,  when  his 
cage  has  been  placed  among  the  boughs  of  trees, 
he  has  not  shown  any  warlike  feelings  against  the 
robins  and  sparrows  that  passed  about,  but  only 
a  sincere  friendly  interest. 

At  this  present  writing,  Bob  is  the  most  ele 
gant,  trim,  electric,  persuasive,  cunning,  tender, 
courageous,  artistic  little  dandy  of  a  bird  that 
mind  can  imagine.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to 
imitating  the  songs  of  his  tribe.  He  is  a  creative 
artist.  I  was  witness  not  long  ago  to  the  selec 
tion  and  adoption  by  him  of  a  rudimentary 
whistle-language.  During  an  illness  it  fell  to  my 
lot  to  sleep  in  a  room  alone  with  Bob.  In  the 
early  morning  when  a  lady,  to  whom  Bob  is  pas 
sionately  attached,  would  make  her  appearance 
in  the  room,  he  would  salute  her  with  a  certain 
joyful  chirrup  which  appears  to  belong  to  him 
peculiarly.  I  have  not  heard  it  from  any  other 
bird.  But  sometimes  the  lady  would  merely  open 
the  door,  make  an  inquiry,  and  then  retire.  It 
was  now  necessary  for  his  artistic  soul  to  find 
some  form  of  expressing  grief.  For  this  purpose 
he  selected  a  certain  cry  almost  identical  with 
that  of  the  cow-bird — an  indescribably  plaintive, 
long-drawn,  thin  whistle.  Day  after  day  I  heard 


Of  Our  Mac  king-Bird  1 1 9 

him  make  use  of  these  expressions.  He  had 
never  done  so  before.  The  mournful  one  he 
would  usually  accompany,  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  shut,  with  a  sidelong  inquiring  posture  of 
the  head,  which  was  a  clear  repetition  of  the 
lover's  Is  she  gone?  Is  she  really  gone? 

There  is  one  particular  in  which  Bob's  habits 
cannot  be  recommended:  He  eats  very  often. 
In  fact,  if  Bob  should  hire  a  cook  it  would  be 
absolutely  necessary  for  him  to  write  down  his 
hours  for  her  guidance;  and  this  writing  would 
look  very  much  like  a  time-table  of  the  Pennsyl 
vania,  or  the  Hudson  River,  or  the  Old  Colony 
Railroad.  He  would  have  to  say :  "Bridget  will 
be  kind  enough  to  get  me  my  breakfast  at  the 
following  hours:  5,  5.20,  5.40,  6,  6.15,  6.30, 
6.45,  7,  7.20,  7.40,  8  (and  so  on,  every  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes  until  12  M.)  ;  my  dinner  at 
12,  12.20,  12.40,  i,  1.15,  1.30  (and  so  on, 
every  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  until  6  P.M.)  ; 
my  supper  is  irregular,  but  I  wish  Bridget  par 
ticularly  to  remember  that  I  always  eat  when 
ever  I  awake  in  the  night,  and  that  I  usually 
awake  four  or  five  times  between  bed-time  and 
daybreak."  With  all  this  eating,  Bob  never 
neglects  to  wipe  his  beak  after  each  meal.  This 
he  does  by  drawing  it  quickly,  three  or  four  times 
on  each  side,  against  his  perch. 


1 20  Bob  :  the  Story 

I  never  tire  of  watching  his  motions.  There 
does  not  seem  to  be  the  least  friction  between  any 
of  the  component  parts  of  his  system.  They  all 
work,  give,  play  in  and  out,  stretch,  contract,  and 
serve  his  desires  generally  with  a  smoothness  and 
soft  precision  truly  admirable.  Merely  to  see 
him  leap  from  his  perch  to  the  floor  of  his 
cage  is  to  me  a  never-failing  marvel.  It  is  so  in 
stantaneous,  and  yet  so  quiet:  clip,  and  he  is 
down,  with  his  head  in  the  food-cup ;  I  can  com 
pare  it  to  nothing  but  the  stroke  of  Fate.  It  is 
perhaps  a  strained  association  of  the  large  with 
the  small;  but  when  he  suddenly  leaps  down  in 
this  instantaneous  way,  I  always  feel  as  if  I  sud 
denly  heard  the  clip  of  the  fatal  shears. 

His  list  of  songs  is  extensive.  Perhaps  it 
would  have  been  much  more  so  if  his  life  had 
been  in  the  woods,  where  he  would  have  had  the 
opportunity  to  hear  the  endlessly  various  calls 
of  his  race.  So  far  as  we  can  see,  the  stock  of 
songs  which  he  now  sings  must  have  been  brought 
in  his  own  mind  out  of  the  egg — or  from  some 
further  source  whereof  we  know  nothing.  He 
certainly  never  learned  these  calls;  many  of  the 
birds  of  whom  he  gives  perfect  imitations  have 
been  always  beyond  his  reach.  He  does  not  ap 
prehend  readily  a  new  set  of  tones.  He  has 


Of  Our  Mocking-Bird  121 

caught  two  or  three  musical  phrases  from  hear 
ing  them  whistled  near  him.  No  systematic  at 
tempt,  however,  has  been  made  to  teach  him 
anything.  His  procedure  in  learning  these  few 
tones  was  peculiar.  He  would  not,  on  first  hear 
ing  them,  make  any  sign  that  he  desired  to  retain 
them,  beyond  a  certain  air  of  attention  in  his 
posture.  Upon  repetition  on  a  different  day,  his 
behavior  was  the  same :  there  was  no  attempt  at 
imitation.  But  some  time  afterward,  quite  unex 
pectedly,  in  the  hilarious  flow  of  his  bird-songs, 
would  appear  a  perfect  reproduction  of  the 
whistled  tones.  Like  a  great  artist  he  was  rather 
above  useless  and  amateurish  efforts.  He  took 
things  into  his  mind,  turned  them  over,  and,  when 
he  was  perfectly  sure  of  it,  brought  it  forth  with 
perfection  and  with  unconcern. 

He  has  his  little  joke.  His  favorite  response 
to  the  endearing  terms  of  the  lady  whom  he  loves 
is  to  scold  her.  Of  course  he  understands  that 
she  understands  his  wit.  He  uses  for  this  pur 
pose  the  angry  warning  cry  which  mocking-birds 
are  in  the  habit  of  employing  to  drive  away  in 
truders  from  their  nests.  At  the  same  time  he  ex 
presses  his  delight  by  a  peculiar  gesture  which 
he  always  uses  when  pleased.  He  extends  his 
right  wing  and  stretches  his  leg  along  the  inner 
surface  of  it  as  far  as  he  is  able. 


122  Bob:  the  Story 

He  has  great  capacities  in  the  way  of  elongat 
ing  and  contracting  himself.  When  he  is  curious 
or  alarmed,  he  stretches  his  body  until  he  seems 
incredibly  tall  and  of  the  size  of  his  neck  all  the 
way.  When  he  is  cold,  he  makes  himself  into  a 
perfectly  round  ball  of  feathers. 

I  think  I  envy  him  most  when  he  goes  to  sleep. 
He  takes  up  one  leg  somewhere  into  his  bosom, 
crooks  the  other  a  trifle,  shortens  his  neck,  closes 
his  eyes — and  it  is  done.  He  does  not  appear 
to  hover  a  moment  in  the  border-land  between 
sleeping  and  waking,  but  hops  over  the  line  with 
the  same  superb  decision  with  which  he  drops 
from  his  perch  to  the  floor.  I  do  not  think  he 
ever  has  anything  on  his  mind  after  he  closes  his 
eyes.  It  is  my  belief  that  he  never  committed  a 
sin  of  any  sort  in  his  whole  life.  There  is  but 
one  time  when  he  ever  looks  sad.  This  is  during 
the  season  when  his  feathers  fall.  He  is  then 
unspeakably  dejected.  Never  a  note  do  we  get 
from  him  until  it  is  over.  Nor  can  he  be  blamed. 
Last  summer  not  only  the  usual  loss  took  place, 
but  every  feather  dropped  from  his  tail.  His 
dejection  during  this  period  was  so  extreme  that 
we  could  not  but  believe  he  had  some  idea  of  his 
personal  appearance  under  the  disadvantage  of 
no  tail.  This  was  so  ludicrous  that  his  most  ar 
dent  lovers  could  scarcely  behold  him  without  a 


Of  Our  Moc king-Bird  123 

smile ;  and  it  appeared  to  cut  him  to  the  soul  that 
he  should  excite  such  sentiments. 

But  in  a  surprisingly  short  time  his  tail- 
feathers  grew  out  again,  the  rest  of  his  apparel 
reappeared  fresh  and  new,  and  he  lifted  up  his 
head;  insomuch  that  whenever  we  wish  to  fill  the 
house  with  a  gay,  confident,  dashing,  riotous,  in 
nocent,  sparkling  glory  of  jubilation,  we  have 
only  to  set  Bob's  cage  where  a  spot  of  sunshine 
will  fall  on  it.  His  beads  of  eyes  glisten,  his  form 
grows  intense,  up  goes  his  beak,  and  he  is  off. 

Finally  we  have  sometimes  discussed  the  ques 
tion,  is  it  better,  on  the  whole,  that  Bob  should 
have  lived  in  a  cage  than  in  the  wildwood? 
There  are  conflicting  opinions  about  it;  but  one 
of  us  is  clear  that  it  Is.  He  argues  that  although 
there  are  many  songs  which  are  never  heard,  as 
there  are  many  eggs  which  never  hatch,  yet  the 
general  end  of  a  song  is  to  be  heard,  as  that  of 
an  egg  is  to  be  hatched.  He  further  argues  that 
Bob's  life  in  his  cage  has  been  one  long  blessing 
to  several  people  who  stood  in  need  of  him; 
whereas  in  the  woods,  leaving  aside  the  probabil 
ity  of  hawks  and  bad  boys,  he  would  not  have 
been  likely  to  gain  one  appreciative  listener  for  a 
single  half-hour  out  of  each  year.  And,  as  I 
have  already  mercifully  released  you  from  sev- 


124  Our  Moc king-Bird 

eral  morals  (continues  this  disputant)  which  I 
might  have  drawn  from  Bob,  I  am  resolved  that 
no  power  on  earth  shall  prevent  me  from  draw 
ing  this  final  one.  We  have  heard  much  of  "the 
privileges  of  genius,"  of  "the  right  of  the  artist 
to  live  out  his  own  existence  free  from  the  con 
ventionalities  of  society,"  of  "the  un-morality  of 
art,"  and  the  like.  But  I  do  protest  that  the 
greater  the  artist,  and  the  more  profound  his 
piety  toward  the  fellow-man  for  whom  he  pas 
sionately  works,  the  readier  will  be  his  willing 
ness  to  forego  the  privileges  of  genius  and  to  cage 
himself  in  the  conventionalities,  even  as  the 
mocking-bird  is  caged.  His  struggle  against 
these  will,  I  admit,  be  the  greatest:  he  will  feel 
the  bitterest  sense  of  their  uselessness  in  restrain 
ing  him  from  wrong-doing.  But,  nevertheless, 
one  consideration  will  drive  him  to  enter  the  door 
and  get  contentedly  on  his  perch :  his  fellow-men, 
his  fellow-men,  these  he  can  reach  through  the 
respectable  bars  of  use  and  wont;  in  his  wild 
thickets  of  lawlessness  they  would  never  hear 
him,  or,  hearing,  would  never  listen.  In  truth, 
this  is  the  sublimest  of  self-denials,  and  none  but 
a  very  great  artist  can  compass  it :  to  abandon  the 
sweet,  green  forest  of  liberty,  and  live  a  whole 
life  behind  needless  constraints,  for  the  more 
perfect  service  of  his  fellow-men. 


VIII 

INCIDENTS    IN    SIDNEY    LANIER'S 
LIFE 


INCIDENTS 


NINETEEN  years  before  our  Civil  War, 
there  was  born  in  Macon,  Ga.,  a  boy  who  began 
life,  not  as  the  babe  Hercules,  who  sat  up  in 
his  cradle  to  strangle  fearful  serpents,  but  with 
a  spirit  equally  brave  from  the  first.  When  but 
a  child  he  sifted  out  from  knightly  tales  the 
chivalric  spirit,  the  courage,  the  endurance,  the 
loyalty,  the  energy  which  suited  his  idea  of  the 
"manful  man."  It  was  from  these  sources 
that  he  imbibed  "a  lofty  contempt  for  what  is 
small,  knowing,  and  gossipy,"  and  learned 
"the  delicacy  of  national  honor" — "to  perform 
a  promise  to  the  uttermost"-^-"to  reverence  all 
women" — "to  help  the  weak" — "to  treat  high 
and  low  with  courtesy" — "to  be  fair  to  a  bitter 
foe" — "to  despise  luxury" — "to  preserve  sim 
plicity,  modesty,  and  gentleness  of  heart." 

With  this  equipment  he  took  a  wee  lad's  de 
light  in  being  "the  leader  of  a  children's  ama 
teur  minstrel  band,  or,  a  little  later,  the  captain 
of  a  boys'  military  company,  armed  with  bows 

127 


128          Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life 

and  arrows."  The  children  with  whom  he 
played  were  always  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
his  fitness  for  leadership,  and  they  were  his 
loyal  knights  to  the  last. 

Sidney  Lanier  had  one  sister, — and  a  brother 
who  was  his  inseparable  comrade  through 
childhood  and  his  adored  friend  through  life. 
"The  Lanier  family,"  says  the  poet's  wife, 
"was  one  where  love  ruled.  Mr.  Lanier  al 
ways  spoke  of  his  sister  with  deep  reverence, 
calling  her  'the  violet'  or  'my  violet  eyes.'  He 
said  of  her:  'My  sister  never  drifted  from  her 
native  shore,  which  was  heaven.' 

"Stringent  discipline  was  almost  wholly  un 
known  in  the  family.  Only  one  whipping  was 
ever  considered  necessary,  and  that  fell  to  the 
poet  when  he  was  seven  years  of  age  because 
he  failed  to  learn  his  letters.  This  was,  how 
ever,  not  from  wilfulness,  but  because  his  mind 
was  one  that  naturally  refused  to  go  along 
routine  tracks.  In  later  years  he  speaks  in 
favor  of  the  literary  work  one  learns  to  do  'un- 
systematically  and  without  formal  teaching.'  ' 
Formal  teaching  is  often  death  to  genius. 

"Near  their  home  were  happy  hunting- 
grounds,  where  the  two  brothers  sought  hickory 
nuts,  scaly  barks,  and  haw-apples,  or  hunted 
blackbirds  and  snipes,"  says  Baskervill.  "He 


Incidents  in  Lamer  s  Life          129 

loved  to  sit  quietly  and  fish,  hours  at  a  time, 
but  his  chief  pleasure  was  in  music.  Clapping 
bones,  keeping  time  as  negro  minstrels  do,  in 
jigs  and  dance  tunes,  was  the  first  evidence  of 
his  musical  genius.  His  mother  accompanied 
him  on  the  piano.  He  had  no  instruction  in 
music  beyond  that  given  by  his  mother  at  the 
age  of  seven,  yet  before  he  could  write  plainly 
he  could  play  on  several  musical  instruments. 
When  he  was  nine  years  old  Santa  Claus 
brought  him  a  small,  yellow,  one-keyed  flute, 
on  which  simple  instrument  he  would  practise 
with  the  skill  of  an  artist.  While  a  mere  child 
he  could  play  on  the  flute,  guitar,  banjo,  and 
violin,  and  his  first  impulse  was  ever  to  form 
an  amateur  orchestra  of  children  in  camp,  and 
he  finally  became  first  flutist  of  the  Peabody 
Orchestra  of  Baltimore."  As  a  youth  in  col 
lege  he  would  seize  his  banjo  and  strike  up  such 
a  lively  air  that  his  companions  could  not  re 
sist  the  impulse  to  spring  to  their  feet  and  to 
join  in  a  merry  walk-round  or  negro  break 
down. 

The  law  office  of  the  boy's  father  adjoined 
the  home,  and  held  the  family  library.  Here 
was  the  King  Arthur  treasure-house,  the  golden 
tales,  where  the  boy  spent  much  of  his  leisure 
time  in  the  wonderland  of  books.  The  book 


130          Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life 

is  "father  to  the  man."  Lanier's  editing  in 
later  years  of  "Percy,"  the  "Froissart,"  the 
King  Arthur  stories,  and  the  "Knightly 
Legends  of  Wales,"  "shows,"  says  Basker- 
vill,  "not  only  knowledge,  taste,  and  conscien 
tious  labor,  but  also  that  genuine  love  for  the 
old,  the  chivalrous,  and  the  romantic,  which 
springs  from  a  natural  affinity.  He  dearly 
loved  old  English  worthies,  chroniclers,  and 
poets,  while  knights  and  knightly  deeds  cap 
tivated  his  imagination  and  influenced  his  con 
duct."  "He  who  walks  in  the  way  these  bal 
lads  point,"  says  Lanier  of  the  Percy  ballads, 
"will  be  manful  in  necessary  fight,  fair  in  trade, 
loyal  in  love,  generous  to  the  poor,  tender  in 
the  household,  prudent  in  living,  plain  in 
speech,  merry  upon  occasion,  simple  in  be 
havior,  and  honest  in  all  things." 

Lanier  served  for  a  year,  from  the  age  of 
fourteen  to  fifteen,  as  clerk  in  the  Macon  post- 
office,  where  he  came  in  contact  with  many 
amusing  characters,  who  contributed  much  to 
his  sense  of  humor.  When  not  quite  fifteen 
young  Lanier  was  admitted  to  a  small  college 
in  Georgia,  from  which  he  was  graduated  when 
he  was  eighteen.  At  the  age  of  nineteen  (in 
1861)  Lanier  entered  the  Southern  army,  the 
Second  Georgia  Battalion,  as  a  private  soldier, 


Incidents  in  Laniers  Life          131 

and  a  little  later  his  brother,  Clifford,  joined 
him.  Promotion  was  offered  to  them  several 
times,  but  they  preferred  the  rank  of  privates, 
that  they  might  not  be  separated  from  each 
other.  In  a  letter  to  his  brother,  long  after 
the  war,  the  poet  alludes  to  the  night  marches 
they  had  in  the  army  when  Clifford,  who  was 
only  a  boy  of  seventeen,  was  obliged  to  sleep 
while  walking.  He  laid  his  head  on  the  shoul 
der  of  the  older  brother,  who  held  him  up  so 
that  the  weary  brain  might  take  the  necessary 
nap  while  his  feet  were  moving.  The  poet 
cited  this  instance  in  acknowledging  help  from 
his  brother,  saying  that  it  was  now  the  elder 
who  leaned  on  the  younger. 

Baskervill  says  that  they  took  part  in  many 
battles  and  skirmishes  in  Virginia,  racing  to  es 
cape  the  Yankee  gunboats,  signalling  despatches, 
serenading  country  beauties,  poring  over  chance 
books,  and  foraging  for  provender. 

But  neither  pleasure  nor  hardships  could  win 
the  poet  from  study,  or  veil  from  his  eyes  the 
beauties  of  nature.  In  camp,  in  self-preserva 
tion,  he  tries  to  set  some  of  Tennyson's  songs 
to  music;  he  studies  the  German  language,  and 
translates,  in  intervals  of  repose  or  at  night, 
after  his  horse  is  curried,  Heine,  Goethe,  and 
Schiller.  While  he  is  serving  with  a  detach- 


132          Incidents  in  Laniers  Life 

ment  of  mounted  scouts  the  enemy  surprises 
their  little  camp  and  carries  off,  besides  their 
clothes,  cooking  utensils,  and  cots,  his  treasures 
— Heine,  "Aurora  Leigh,"  "Les  Miserables," 
and  a  German  glossary. 

One  who  knew  him  at  this  time  describes  him 
as  a  slender,  gray-eyed  youth,  full  of  enthu 
siasm,  playful,  with  a  dainty  mirthfulness,  a 
tender  humor,  most  like  the  great  musician, 
Mendelssohn. 

In  1864  the  brothers  were  separated,  Sid 
ney  being  assigned  to  duty  as  signal  officer  to 
the  blockade-runner  Lucy.  On  the  first  run 
out  of  East  Inlet,  near  Fort  Fisher,  she  was 
captured,  and  Sidney,  refusing  to  don  the 
clothes  of  his  fellow-officers,  Englishmen,  and 
declare  himself  a  foreigner,  was  taken  to  Point 
Lookout  prison,  "where  were  sown  the  seeds 
of  fell  disease,  to  retard  whose  growth  was  the 
greatest  part  of  his  endeavor  for  the  following 
few  years."  These  days  of  confinement  were 
cheered  by  fellowship  with  a  kindred  spirit,  an 
other  prisoner  since  widely  known  as  the  poet- 
priest,  Father  Tabb,  and  solaced  by  his  in 
separable  companion  through  life,  his  flute, 
which  he  had  carried  hidden  in  his  sleeve  into 
the  prison  with  him.  After  five  months  he 
was  released  on  an  exchange  of  prisoners,  but 


Incidents  in  Laniers  Life          133 

owing  to  his  thin  clothing  and  the  cold  weather 
he  came  near  dying  on  the  voyage  to  City 
Point. 

"In  this  enfeebled  condition,"  says  Baskervill, 
"he  was  landed  in  February,  1865,  and  as  soon 
as  the  exchange  was  effected  he  set  out  on  foot 
for  his  far-away  Georgia  home.  A  twenty-dol 
lar  gold  piece  and  his  friend-making,  comfort- 
earning  flute  were  his  sole  possessions. 

"Weary  and  foot-sore,  he  plodded  along, 
until,  on  March  i5th,  he  reached  home,  utterly 
exhausted.  The  hardships  of  camp  and  prison 
life,  the  bitter  cold  at  sea,  and  the  long,  weary 
journey  had  proved  too  much  for  his  constitu 
tion,  and  six  weeks  of  desperate  illness  followed. 
The  first  days  of  his  recovery  witnessed  the 
death  of  his  mother  from  consumption,  and  he 
himself  arose  from  his  sick-bed  with  pro 
nounced  congestion  of  one  lung." 

Having  recovered  sufficiently,  Lanier  served 
as  teacher  in  a  private  family  a  few  weeks,  and 
then  as  clerk  in  a  hotel  in  Montgomery,  Ala. 
In  1867,  having  finished  his  one  novel,  his 
first  book,  "Tiger  Lilies,"  he  came  to  New 
York  city  in  search  of  a  publisher.  One  of  the 
most  striking  chapters  in  this  novel  is  a  scene 
at  a  masquerade  ball  where  the  author's  hero 
and  heroine,  disguised  as  King  Arthur  and 


134          Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life 

Queen  Guinevere,  meet  the  former's  most  dan 
gerous  enemy,  Cranston,  disguised  as  Launce- 
lot.  In  this  scene  King  Arthur  conquers  his 
enemy,  and  exclaims  as  he  shivers  his  rapier: 
"I  give  thee  thy  life  that  thou  mayst  put  it 
to  a  better  use,  Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake!" 
Lanier  is  too  merciful  to  allow  his  villain  to 
die,  but  lets  him  develop  into  a  manful  char 
acter. 

There  is  an  old  album  extant,  dating  back  to 
1872,  belonging  to  a  friend  of  the  poet.  It  is 
an  album  of  printed  questions  and  written  an 
swers,  and  in  it  I  find  interesting  suggestions 
as  to  the  poet's  tastes.  His  favorite  tree  is  the 
mimosa;  his  favorite  color,  "the  opal  gray, 
which  one  sees  on  the  horizon  just  after  a 
gorgeous  sunset;"  his  favorite  musicians,  Schu 
mann,  Wagner,  Beethoven,  Chopin.  Among 
his  favorite  authors  are  Shakespeare,  Chaucer, 
Robert  Browning,  Carlyle,  George  Eliot,  and 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.  His  favorite 
amusement  is  "to  be  on  a  springy  horse  in  a 
hilly  country."  His  favorite  occupation  is  teach 
ing,  and  he  admires  "knightly  magnanimity" 
above  all  other  traits  in  man. 

Sidney  Lanier  was  a  veritable  master  of  the 
art  of  creating  innocent  fun.  His  talent  in  this 
direction  admitted  of  no  malice;  his  wit  was 


Incidents  in  Laniers  Life          135 

that  of  the  poet  who  finds  laughter  in  fanciful 
situations,  where  he  makes  himself,  if  anyone, 
the  point  of  the  jest.  One  of  his  letters  to  his 
wife  describing  his  entrance,  as  first  flute,  into  the 
Peabody  Orchestra  discloses  this  quality.  He 
says  : 

"Well,  Flauto  Primo  hath  been  to  his  first 
rehearsal. 

"Fancy  thy  poor  lover,  weary,  worn,  and 
stuffed  with  a  cold,  arriving  after  a  brisk  walk 
— he  was  so  afraid  he  might  be  behind  time — 
at  the  hall  of  Peabody  Institute.  He  passeth 
down  betwixt  the  empty  benches,  turneth 
through  the  green-room,  emergeth  on  the  stage, 
greeteth  the  Maestro,  is  introduced  by  the  same 
to  Flauto  Secondo,  and  then,  with  as  much 
carelessness  as  he  can  assume,  he  sauntereth  in 
among  the  rows  of  music-stools,  to  see  if  he  can 
find  the  place  where  he  is  to  sit — for  he  knoweth 
not,  and  liketh  not  to  ask.  He  remembereth 
where  the  flutes  sit  in  Thomas's  orchestra;  but 
on  going  to  the  corresponding  spot  he  findeth 
the  part  of  Contra-Basso  on  the  music-stand, 
and  fleeth  therefrom  in  terror.  In  despair,  he 
is  about  to  endeavor  to  get  some  information 
on  the  sly,  when  he  seeth  the  good  Flauto 
Secondo  sitting  down  far  in  front,  and  straight 
way  marcheth  to  his  place  on  the  left  of  the 


136          Incidents  in  Laniers  Life 

same,  with  the  air  of  one  that  had  played  there 
since  babyhood. 

"Well,  I  sit  down — some  late-comers  arrive, 
stamping  and  blowing — for  it  is  snowing  out 
side — and  pull  the  green  covers  off  their  big 
horns  and  bass  fiddles.  Presently  the  Maestro, 
who  is  rushing  about,  hither  and  thither,  in 
some  excitement,  falleth  to  striking  a  great 
tuning-fork  with  a  mallet,  and  straightway  we 
all  begin  to  toot  A,  to  puff  it,  to  groan  it,  to 
squeak  it,  to  scrape  it,  until  I  sympathize  with 
the  poor  letter,  and  glide  off  in  some  delicate 
little  runs;  and  presently  the  others  begin  to 
flourish  also,  and  here  we  have  it,  up  and  down 
the  scale,  unearthly  buzzings  from  the  big 
fiddles,  diabolical  four-string  chords  from  the 
'cellos,  passionate  shrieks  from  the  clarionets  and 
oboes,  manly  remonstrances  from  the  horns, 
querulous  complaints  from  the  bassoons,  and 
so  on. 

"Now  the  Maestro  mounteth  to  his  perch. 
I  am  seated  immediately  next  the  audience, 
facing  the  first  violins,  who  are  separated  from 
me  by  the  conductor's  stand.  I  place  my  part 
on  my  stand,  and  try  to  stop  my  heart  from 
beating  so  fast — with  unavailing  arguments. 
Maestro  rappeth  with  his  baton,  and  magically 


Incidents  in  Laniers  Life          137 

stilleth  all  the  shrieks  and  agonies  of  the  in 
struments.  'Fierst'  (he  saith,  with  the  French- 
iest  of  French  accents — tho'  a  Dane,  he  was 
educated  in  Paris)  'I  wish  to  present  to  ze 
gentlemen  of  ze  orchestra  our  fierst  flutist,  Mr. 
Sidney  Lanier,  also  our  fierst  oboe,  Mr.  [I 
didn't  catch  his  name].'  Whereupon,  not 
knowing  what  else  to  do — and  the  pause  being 
somewhat  awkward — I  rise  and  make  a  pro 
found  bow  to  the  Reeds,  who  sit  behind  me, 
another  to  the  'Celli,  the  Bassi,  and  the  Tym- 
pani,  in  the  middle,  and  a  third  to  the  Violins 
opposite.  This  appeareth  to  be  the  right  thing, 
for  Oboe  jumpeth  up  also,  and  boweth,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  orchestra  all  rise  and  bow, 
some  of  them  in  a  most  impressive  way. 

"Then  there  is  a  little  idiotic  hum  and  sim 
per,  such  as  newly  introduced  people  usually 
affect.  Then  cometh  a  man — whom  I  should 
always  hate,  if  I  could  hate  anybody  always — 
and,  to  my  horror,  putteth  on  my  music-stand 
the  flauto  primo  part  of  Niels  Cade's  Ossian 
Overture,  and  thereupon  the  Maestro  saith, 
'We  will  try  that  fierst.' 

"Horrors!  They  told  me  they  would  play 
nothing  but  the  Fifth  Symphony,  and  this 
Ossian  Overture  I  have  never  seen  or  heard ! 
This  does  not  help  my  heart-beats  nor  steady 


138          Incidents  in  Laniers  Life 

my  lips — thou  canst  believe.  However,  there 
is  no  time  to  tarry,  the  baton  rappeth,  the  horns 
blow,  my  five  bars'  rest  is  out — I  plunge. 
Oh!  If  thou  couldst  but  be  by  me  in  this  sub 
lime  glory  of  music!  All  through  it  I  yearn 
for  thee  with  heart-breaking  eagerness.  The 
beauty  of  it  maketh  me  catch  my  breath — to 
write  of  it.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  it. 
It  is  the  spirit  of  the  poems  of  Ossian  done  in 
music  by  the  wonderful  Niels  Gade. 

"I  got  through  it  without  causing  any  dis 
turbance.  Maestro  had  to  stop  twice  on  ac 
count  of  some  other  players.  I  failed  to  come 
in  on  time  twice  in  the  Symphony.  I  am  too 
tired  now  to  give  thee  any  further  account.  I 
go  again  to  rehearsal  to-morrow." 

Not  only  does  our  flutist-poet  prove  himself 
a  genius  in  the  art  of  creating  innocent  fun 
with  his  "musical  jay-cries,"  his  "movement  for 
gnats,"  his  "motion  for  bugs,"  his  break-downs 
and  "corn-shuckings,"  but  he  also  takes  first 
rank  as  a  writer  of  letters.  We  have  hardly 
given  sufficient  credit  to  Lanier  as  a  musician. 
Every  record  of  him  is  a  witness  to  his  "rain 
of  melodies."  The  violin  was  his  earliest 
choice.  This  he  abandoned  in  his  youth,  how 
ever,  to  please  his  father,  who  dreaded  the  fas- 


Incidents  in  Lanier's  Life          139 

cination  by  which  the  violin  seemed  to  hold  the 
boy  in  thrall,  like  a  strange  enchantment.  But 
he  "conquered  the  violin  from  the  flute,"  and 
all  who  heard  it  came  under  the  spell  of  its 
"harmonious  madness." 

The  life  of  our  flutist  was  that  of 

" — a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought; 
Singing  songs  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not." 

It  was  a  brave  life,  enduring  pain,  sickness, 
and  poverty  with  heroic  fortitude  and  revealing 
almost  superhuman  energy  in  the  face  of  phys 
ical  weakness. 

Event  followed  event  rapidly.  Mr.  Lanier 
was  a  teacher  in  1867  at  Prattville,  Ala.  Then 
followed  his  marriage  to  Miss  Mary  Day,  of 
Macon,  in  the  same  year;  declining  health;  a 
trip  to  Texas  in  1872;  a  trip  to  Florida  repre 
senting  a  railroad  company  in  1874;  a  return 
to  his  home  in  Macon,  where  he  wrote  his 
poem  "  'Corn,'  his  first  great  song  to  which  the 
world  gave  heed";  a  journey  to  New  York  to 
search  for  a  publisher;  his  acquaintance  with 
Gibson  Peacock,  of  Philadelphia,  that  fortu 
nate  editor  who  had  the  fine  sense  which  enabled 


140          Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life 

him  "to  recognize  that  a  new  singer  had  come"; 
a  few  years  of  extreme  poverty  and  illness,  in 
which  we  see  him  "crawling  wearily  to  bed 
after  a  long  day's  work"  on  lectures  and  books, 
while  "a  thousand  songs  were  singing  in  his 
heart"  which  he  longed  to  utter. 

At  last,  in  1879,  came  the  tardy  appointment 
to  Johns  Hopkins  University  as  lecturer  on 
English  literature.  Sidney  Lanier  had  a  pas 
sion  for  teaching.  Here  lie  before  me  two 
great  volumes,  "Shakespeare  and  His  Fore 
runners,"  and  one  three-hundred  page  volume, 
"The  English  Novel,"  all  published  since  his 
death,  the  fruit  of  his  devotion  to  his  profes 
sion  as  a  teacher.  His  work  was  so  broad,  so 
deep,  so  careful,  so  good,  that  it  has  reached 
every  school  in  the  land,  although  he  was  often 
obliged  to  go  in  a  closed  carriage  to  his  classes 
when  there  was  danger  of  those  hemorrhages 
recurring  that  finally  resulted  in  his  death. 

Sidney  Lanier,  as  a  scientist,  was  valuable  to 
the  world  after  a  manner  not  to  be  said  of  any 
other  scientist,  for  he  demonstrated  in  his  "Sci 
ence  of  English  Verse"  that  even  in  poetry 

"All  is  love  and  all  is  law" 

The  Spectator  was  one  of  the  earliest  period 
icals,  if  not  the  first,  to  assign  to  Sidney  Lanier 


Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life          141 

his  rightful  place  among  the  poets  of  America, 
for  it  often  happens  that  English  critics  discover 
our  stars  and  place  them,  before  their  existence 
has  dawned  upon  us.  They  recognized  him  as 
our  Wordsworth  and  our  Keats.  He  is  con 
stantly  growing  more  dear  to  American  hearts 
and  more  ruggedly  firm  as  a  part  of  what  is  per 
manent  in  American  literature. 

Seven  years — magic  number — seven  years 
of  illness,  poverty,  and  pain  (from  1874  to 
1881)  sufficed  to  develop  the  poet.  In  this 
period  Sidney  Lanier  wrote  his  one  volume  of 
poems.  As  has  already  been  said,  he  is  best 
known  by  "The  Marshes  of  Glynn,"  "Clover," 
"Corn,"  "The  Symphony,"  and  "The  Song  of 
the  Chattahoochee."  Many  of  his  poems  have 
been  set  to  music.  Lanier  disdained  cut-and- 
dried  rules  in  poetry,  such  as  were  taught  in 
old  rhetorics.  The  "New  Rhetoric"  does  not 
attempt  to  teach  the  poet;  it  sits  modestly  at  his 
feet  to  deduce  its  rules  and  laws.* 

Lanier  found  satisfying  beauty  in  common 
forms  of  nature.  Shelley  found  his  themes  in 
grand  aspects  of  nature,  like  the  Alps  at  sunrise. 
Lanier  found  poetry  in  the  "cunning  green 
leaves,  little  masters,"  "my  gossip,  the  owl," 
the  "affable  live-oak,"  "the  marsh  hen  [that] 

*  See  Composition  and  Rhetoric,  by  Margaret  Mooney. 


142          Incidents  in  Laniers  Life 

secretly  builds  on  the  watery  sod,"  the  orange 
"globes  of  gold,"  "honest  mould  and  vagabond 
air,"  the  "wing-music"  of  the  "pleading  bee." 
"He  was  inspired  by  nature  in  any  typical 
form.  It  did  not  require  an  unusually  beautiful 
sunrise  or  sunset  to  kindle  his  enthusiasm  and 
reverence." 

Crowning  all  that  can  be  said  of  Sidney 
Lanier,  the  poet,  the  teacher,  the  musician, 
comes  his  character  as  man,  lover,  "Heart- 
Knight." 

"O  Trade!  O  Trade!  would  thou  wert  dead! 
The  Time  needs  heart — 'tis  tired  of  head; 
We're  all  for  love,"  the  violin  said. 

Thus  opens  that  great  poem  "The  Sym 
phony,"  where  each  musical  instrument  sings 
out  its  knightly  strain.  "I'm  all  for  heart,"  the 
flute-voice  said.  Quoth  the  bold  horn : 

"Where's  he  that  craftily  hath  said, 
The  day  of  chivalry  is  dead? 
I'll  prove  that  lie  upon  his  head, 
Or  I  will  die  instead, 
Fair  Lady." 

In  his  novel,  "Tiger  Lilies,"  he  says:  "Love 
is  the  only  rope  thrown  out  by  Heaven  to  us 
who  have  fallen  overboard  into  Life."  "Inas 
much  as  we  love,  in  so  much  do  we  conquer 


Incidents  in  Lanier  s  Life          143 

death  and  flesh;  by  as  much  as  we  love,  by  so 
much  are  we  gods,  for  God  is  love;  and  could 
we  love  as  He  does,  we  could  be  as  He  is." 
We  need  not  multiply  instances  to  prove  how 
deeply  the  poet  believed  in  love  for  God  and 
love  for  humanity. 

In  almost  the  last  article  which  he  wrote 
Lanier  tells  us  that  "the  genius  which  in  the 
heat  and  struggle  of  ideal  creation  has  the 
enormous  control  and  temperance  to  arrange 
and  adjust  in  harmonious  proportion"  what  is 
antagonistic  in  verse  is  "the  same  genius  which 
in  the  heat  and  battle  of  life  will  arrange"  what 
is  morally  antagonistic,  "with  similar  self-con 
trol  and  temperance."  "There  is  a  point,"  he 
adds,  "to  which  the  merely  clever  artist  may 
reach,  but  beyond  which  he  may  never  go,  for 
lack  of  moral  insight."  In  fine,  there  is  a  point, 
in  art,  "beyond  which  nothing  but  moral  great 
ness  can  ever  attain,  because  it  is  at  this  point 
that  the  moral  range,  the  religious  fervor,  the 
true  seership  and  prophethood  of  the  poet,  come 
in  and  lift  him  to  higher  views  of  all  things." 

Sidney  Lanier  died  in  1881,  at  the  early  age 
of  thirty-nine  years,  but  his  work  stands  pecul 
iarly  as  the  expression  of  the  man. 


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THE  LANIER  BOOK.  Selections  from  the 
Writings,  in  Prose  and  Verse,  of  Sidney 
Lanier.  Edited  by  Mary  E.  Burt.  Illus 
trated. 

THE  ROOSEVELT  BOOK.  Selections  from  the 
Writings  of  Theodore  Roosevelt.  Illus 
trated.  4 

HERO  TALES.     By  James  Baldwin.    Illustrated. 

AROUND  THE  WORLD  IN  THE  SLOOP  SPRAY.  A 
Geographical  Reader  by  Captain  Joshua 
Slocum.  Illustrated. 

DON  QUIXOTE  DE  LA  MANCHA.  Edited  from 
the  Translations  of  Duffield  and  Shelton  by 
Mary  E.  Burt  and  Lucy  Leffingwell  Cable. 

SOME  MERRY  ADVENTURES  OF  ROBIN  HOOD. 
By  Howard  Pyle.  Illustrated. 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSE.  By  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson.  Illustrated. 

THE  BOY  GENERAL.  By  Mrs.  George  A. 
Custer  and  Mary  E.  Burt.  Illustrated. 

KRAG  AND  JOHNNY  BEAR.  From  "  Lives  of 
the  Hunted."  By  Ernest  Thompson 
Seton.  Illustrated. 

LOBO,  RAG,  AND  VIXEN.  From  "  Wild  Ani 
mals  I  Have  Known."  By  Ernest  Thomp 
son  Seton.  Illustrated. 


THE  HOWELLS  STORY  BOOK.  Edited  by  Mary 
E.  Burtand  Mildred  Howells.  Illustrated. 

THE  CABLE  STORY  BOOK.  Selections  for  School 
Reading,  with  the  Story  of  the  Author's 
Life.  Edited  by  Mary  E.  Burt  and  Lucy 
Leffingwell  Cable.  Illustrated. 

THE  EUGENE  FIELD  BOOK.  Verses,  Stories, 
and  Letters  for  School  Reading.  Edited 
by  Mary  E.  Burt  and  Mary  B.  Cable. 
Introduction  by  George  W.  Cable.  Illus 
trated. 

HERAKLES,  THE  HERO  OF  THEBES.  By  Mary 
E.  Burt.  A  Translation  of  the  Story  of 
Herakles  and  other  Greek  Heroes,  as  used 
in  the  Schools  of  Athens.  Illustrated. 

ODYSSEUS,  THE  HERO  OF  ITHACA.  By  Mary 
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and  Berlin.  Illustrated. 

FANCIFUL  TALES.  By  Frank  R.  Stockton. 
Edited  by  Julia  E.  Langworthy.  Intro 
duction  by  Mary  E.  Burt. 

THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOL-BOY.  By  Edward 
Eggleston.  Illustrated. 

CHILDREN'S  STORIES  IN  AMERICAN  LITERATURE, 
1660-1860.  By  Henrietta  C.  Wright. 

CHILDREN'S  STORIES  IN  AMERICAN  LITERATURE, 
1860-1896.  By  Henrietta  C.  Wright. 

POEMS  OF  AMERICAN  PATRIOTISM.  Chosen 
by  Brander  Matthews. 

TWELVE  NAVAL  CAPTAINS.  By  Molly  Elliot 
Seawell.  Illustrated. 


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